
ROBERT BURNS. 



/y~fcv^/^t M?^ 7c./l(l/^^ . 



THE POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

ROBERT BURNS 



WITH NOTES, GLOSSARY AND 

CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE OF 

HIS LIFE AND WORKS 



WITH BIOGRAPAICAL MEMOIR 
By ALEXANDER SMITH 



NEW YORK 
A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER 



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MR. HUTCHESON 
8 N'02 



' I » « J « 



CONTENTS. 



Biographical Preface 3 

POEMS. 

The Twa Dogrs 55 

Scotch Drink 60 

The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer 63 

The Holy Fair 68 

Death and Doctor Hornbook 73 

The Drifts of Ayr 78 

The Ordination 83 

The Calf 85 

Address to the Deil 85 

The Death and Dying Words of Poor 
Mailie, the Author's only Pet Yowe 87 

Poor Mailie's Elegy 88 

To James Smith 89 

A Dream 91 

The Vision 93 

Address to the Unco Guid, or the 

Rigidly Righteous 97 

Tam Samson"s Elegy 98 

Halloween 99 

The Jolly Beggars 103 

The Auld Farmer's New- Year Morning 

Salutation to his Auld Mare, Maggie 109 
To a Mouse, on turning her up in her 

nest with the plough Ill 

A Winter Night 112 

Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet 114 

The Lament, occasioned by the Un- 
fortunate Issue of a Friend's Amour 116 

Despondency 117 

Winter 118 

The Cotter's Saturday Night 119 

Man was made to mourn 123 

A Prayer, in the Prospect of Death . . 124 

Stanzas on the same occasion 125 

Verses left by Burns in a Room where 

he slept 125 

The First Psalm 126 

A Prayer, under the pressure of vio- 
lent anguish 126 

The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth 

Psalm 126 

To a Mountain Daisy, on turning one 

down with the plough 127 

To Ruin 128 

To Miss Logan, with Beattie's Poems 128 

Epistle to a Young Friend 128 

On a Scotch Bard, gone to the West 

Indies 139 

To a Haggis 130 

A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 131 
To a Louse, on seeing one on a Lady's 

Bonnet at Church 133 

Address to Edinburgh 136 



PAGE 

Epistle to John Lapraik, an old Scot- 
tish Bard 135 

To the Same 136 

To William Simpson 138 

Epistle to John Rankine 141 

Written in Friars-Carse Hermitage.. 142 
Ode, Sacred to the Memory of Mrs. 

Oswald 143 

Elegy on Capt. Matthew Henderson. 144 
Lament of Mary Queen of Scots, on 

the Appi'oach of Spring 146 

Epistle to R. Graham, Esq 146 

To Robert Graham of Fintra, Esq ... 148 
Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn 150 
Lines sent to Sir John Whiteford, of 
Whiteford, Bart., with the forego- 
ing Poem 151 

Tam O'Shanter 152 

On the late Captain Grose's Peregrina- 
tions through Scotland 158 

On Seeing a Wounded Hare limp by 

me 159 

Address to the Shade of Thomson, on 

crowning his Bust at Ednam 159 

To Miss Cruikshank 160 

On the Death of John M'Leod, Esq ... 160 
The Humble Petition of Bruar Water 

to the noble Duke of Athole 160 

The Kirk's Alarm 162 

Address to the Toothache 164 

Wi-itten with a Pencil over the Chim- 
ney-piece, in the Parlor of the Inn 

at Kenmore, Taj'mouth 164 

On the Birth of a Posthumous Child, 
born in Peculiar Circumstances of 

Family Distress 165 

Written with a Pencil, standing by 

the Fall of Fyers, near Loch-Ness. . 166 
Second Epistle to Davie, a Brother 

Poet 166 

The Inventory of the Poet's Goods and 

Chattels 167 

The Whistle 168 

Sketch, inscribed to the Right Hon. 

C. J. Fox 171 

To Dr. Blacklock 172 

Prologue spoken at the Theater,Dum- 

fries 173 

Elegy on the late Miss Burnet 174 

The following Poem was written to a 
gentleman who had sent him a news- 
paper, and offered to continue it 

free of expense 175 

Lines on an interview with Lord Daer. 175 
The Rights of Woman. Prologue 

spoken by Miss Fontenelle 176 

Address, spoken by Miss Fontenelle. . 177 

iii 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Verses to a Young Lady 178 

Poem on Pastoral Poetry 178 

Verses to Chloris, with a copy of the 

last Edition of his Poems 179 

Poetical Address to Mr. William 

Tytler 180 

Sketch.— New- Year Day 181 

Extempore, on Mr. William Smellie. . 181 
Inscription for an Altar to Independ- 
ence 183 

Monody on a Lady famed for her Ca- 
price 182 

Sonnet on the Death of Robert Riddel, 

Esq., of Glenriddel 183 

Impromptu, on Mi'S. RiddePs Birth- 
day 183 

To Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries 183 

Verses written under violent grief.. . 184 
Extempore to Mr. Syme, on refusing 

to dine with him 184 

To Mr. Syme 184 

Sonnet, on liearing a Thrush sing 184 

Poem, addressed to Mr. Mitchell... . 185 
Sent to a Gentleman whom he had of- 
fended 185 

Poem on Life 186 

To Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry.. 186 

Epitaph on a Friend 187 

Verses written at Selkirk 187 

Inscription on the Tombstone of the 

Poet Fergusson 188 

A Grace before Dinner 188 

A Verse, repeated on taking leave at 

a place in the Highlands 188 

Liberty 189 

Fragment of an Ode to the Memory 

of Prince Charles Edward Stuart.. 189 
Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruis- 

seaux 190 

Answer to Verses addressed to the 
Poet by the Guidwif e of Wauchope- 

House 190 

To J. Lapraik 191 

The Twa Herds 192 

To the Rev. John M'Math 193 

Holy Willie's Prayer 195 

Epitaph on Holy Willie 197 

On scaring some Water Fowl in Loch- 

Turit 197 

To Gavin Hamilton, Esq., Mauch- 

line 198 

Epistle to Mr. M'Adam 198 

To Captain Riddel, Glenriddel 199 

Verses intended to be written below 

a noble Earl's Picture 199 

To Terraughty, on his Birthday 199 

To a Lady, with a present of a Pair 

of Drinking Glasses 200 

The Vowels 200 

Sketch 201 

Prologue for Mr. Sutherland's Benefit 201 

Elegy on the Year 1788 203 

Verses written under the Portrait of 

Fergusson the Poet 203 

Lament, written at a time when the 
Poet was about to leave Scotland.. 203 

Delia 204 

On the Death of Sir James Hunter 

Blair 204 

To Miss Ferrier , 205 



PAGE 

Verses to an old Sweetheart, then 

married 206 

The Poet's Welcome to his Illegiti- 
mate Child 206 

Letter to John Goudie, Kilmarnock. . 207 
Letter to James Tennant, Glenconner 207 

Epistle from Esopus to Maria 208 

On a Suicide 210 

A Farewell 210 

The Farewell 210 

Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq 211 

Stanzas on the Duke of Queensberry. 214 
Verses on the Destruction of the 

Woods near Drumlanrig 214 

Epistle to Major Logan 215 

Epitaph on the Poet's Daughter 216 

Epitaph on Gabriel Richardson 216 

OnStirHng 210 

Lines on being told that the forego- 
ing Poem would affect his Prospects 216 

The Reply 217 

Epistle to Hugh Parker 217 

Address of Beelzebub to the President 

of the Highland Society 217 

To Mr. John Kennedy. 218 

On the Death of Robert Dundas, Esq. 219 

To John M'Murdo, Esq 220 

On the Death of a Lap-dog, named 

Echo 220 

Lines written at Loudon Manse 220 

Orthodox, Orthodox. A Second Ver- 
sion of the Kirk's Alarm 221 

The Selkirk Grace 223 

Elegy on the Death of Peg Nicholson. 223 
On seeing Miss Fontenelle in a favor- 
ite Character 223 

The League and Covenant 223 

On Miss Jessy Lewars 223 

Epitaph on Miss Jessy Lewars 224 

The Recovery of Jessy Lewars 224 

The Toast 224 

The Kirk of Lamington 224 

Written on a blank leaf of one of Miss 
Hannah More's Works, which she 

had given him 224 

Inscription on a Goblet 224 

The Book-worms 225 

On Robert Riddel 225 

Willie Chalmers 225 

To John Taylor 226 

Lines written on a Bank-note 226 

The Loyal Natives' Verses 226 

Burns's Reply— Extempore 226 

Remorse 227 

The Toad-Eater 227 

To 227 

" In vain would Prudence " 227 

" Though fickle Fortune " 228 

" I burn, I burn " 228 

Epigram on a noted Coxcomb 228 

Tam the Chapman 228 

To Dr. Maxwell, on Miss Jessy Staig's 

Recovery 229 

Fragment 229 

There's Naethin like the honest Nappy 229 
Prologue, spoken by Mr. Woods on 

his Benefit-night 229 

Nature's Law. A Poem humbly in- 
scribed to G. H., Esq 230 

The Cats like Kitchen 231 . 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Tragic Fragment 231 

Extempoie. In passing a Lady's Car- 
riage 232 

Fragments 232 

Epitapii on William Nicol 233 

Answer to a Poetical Epistle sent the 

Author by a Tailor 233 

Extempore lines, in answer to a card 

from an intimate Friend of Burns. . 234 
Lines written Extempore on a Lady's 

Pocketbook 235 

The Henpeck'd Husband 235 

Epitaph on a Henpeck'd Country 

Squire 235 

Epigram on said occasion 235 

Another 235 

Verses written on a Window of the 

Inn at Carron 236 

Lines on being asked why God had 

made Miss Davies so little and 

Mrs. so large 236 

Epigram. W^ritten at Inverary 236 

A Toast. Given at a meeting of the 

Dumfries-shire Volunteers 236 

Lines said to have been written by 

Burns, while on his Deathbed, to 

John Rankine 237 

Verses addressed to J. Rankine 237 

On seeing the beautiful seat of Lord 

Galloway 237 

On the Same 237 

On the Same 237 

To the Same, on the Author being 

threatened with his Resentment. . . 237 

Verses to J. Rankine 238 

Extemporaneous Effusion, on being 

appointed to the Excise 238 

On hearing that there was Falsehood 

in the Rev. Dr. B 's very Looks. 238 

Poverty 238 

On a Schoolmaster in Cleish Parish.. 238 
Lines written and presented to Mrs. 

Kemble 239 

Lines written on a Window at the 

King's Arms Tavern, Dumfries 239 

Lines written on the Window of the 

Globe Tavern, Dumfries. 239 

Extempore in the Court of Session. . . 239 
Lines written under the Picture of 

Miss Burns 240 

On Miss J. Scott, of Ayr 240 

Epigram on Captain Francis Grose.. 240 
Epigram on Elphinstone's Translation 

of Martial's Epigrams 240 

Epitaph on a Country Laird 240 

Epitaph on a Noisy Polemic 241 

Epitaph on Wee Johnny 241 

Epitaph on a celebrated ruling Elder 241 

Epitaph for Robert Aiken, Esq 241 

Epitaph for Gavin Hamilton, Esq 241 

A Bard's Epitaph 241 

Epitaph on my Father 242 

Epitaph on John Dove 242 

Epitaph on John Bushby 242 

Epitapli on a Wag in Mauchline 242 

Epitaph on a Person nicknamed " The 

Marquis" 243 

Epitaph on Walter R 243 

On Himself 243 

Grace before Meat 243 



PAGE 

On Commissary Goldie's Brains 243 

Impromptu 243 

Addressed to a Lady whom the 

Author feared he had offended 243 

Epigram 244 

Lines inscribed on a Platter 244 

To 244 

On Mr. M'Murdo 244 

To a Lady who was looking up the 

Text during Sermon 244 

Impromptu 244 

To Mr. Mackenzie, surgeon, Mauch- 

hne 245 

To a Painter 245 

Lines written on a Tumbler 245 

On Mr. W. Cruikshank, of the High 

School, Edinburgh 245 

SONGS. 

The Lass o' Ballochmyle 246 

Song of Death 246 

My ain kind Dearie 247 

Auld Rob Morris 247 

Naebody 248 

My Wife's a winsome wee Thing 248 

Duncan Gray 248 

O Poortith 248 

Galla Water 249 

Lord Gregory 249 

Open the Door to Me, ohl 250 

Meg o' the Mill 250 

Jessie 251 

Wandering Willie 251 

Logan Bi-aes. 251 

There was a Lass 252 

Phillis the Fair . . 252 

By Allan Stream : 253 

Had I a Cave 253 

Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad 253 
Husband, Husband, cease your Strife 254 

Deluded Swain 254 

Song 255 

Wilt thou be my Dearie ? 255 

Banks of Cree 255 

On the Seas and far away 255 

Hark ! the Mavis 256 

She says she lo'es me best of a' 256 

How lang and dreary 257 

The Lover's Morning Salute to his 

Mistress 257 

Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks 257 

The Auld Man 258 

Farewell, thou Stream 258 

Contented wi' little 258 

My Nannie's awa' 259 

Sweet fa's the Eve 259 

Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? 259 

Song 260 

'Twas na her bonnie blue Ee 26i 

Address to the Woodlark 261 

How cruel are the Parents 261 

Mark yonder Pomp 261 

1 see a Form, I see a Face 262 

O bonnie was yon rosy brier 262 

Forlorn, my Love 262 

Last May a braw Wooer 263 

Hey for a Lass wi' a Tocher 264 

Altho' thou maun never be mine 264 

The Birks of Aberf eldy .'.... 265 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

The young Highland Rover 265 

Stay, my Charmer 265 

Full well thou know'st 266 

Sti-athallan's Lament 266 

Raving Winds around her blowing. . . 266 

Musing on the roaring Ocean 266 

Blithe was she 267 

Peggy's Charms 267 

The lazy Mist 267 

A Rose-bud by my early Walk 268 

Tibbie, I hae seen the Day 268 

I love my Jean 268 

O, were I on Parnassus' Hill ! 269 

The blissful Day 269 

The Braes o' Ballochmyle 269 

The happy Trio 270 

The blue-eyed Lassie 270 

John Anderson my Jo 270 

'Tam Glen 271 

Gane is the Day 271 

My Tocher's the Jewel 271 

What can a young Lassie do wi' an 

Old Man? 272 

O for ane and twenty, Tam ! 272 

The bonnie wee Thing 272 

The Banks of Nith 273 

Bessy and her Spinnin Wheel 273 

Country Lassie 273 

Fair Eliza 274 

She's fair and f ause 274 

The Posie 274 

The Banks o' Doon 275 

Version printed in the Musical 

Museum 276 

Gloomy December 276 

Behold the Hour 276 

Willie's Wife 277 

Afton Water 277 

Louis, what reck I by thee ? 278 

Bonnie Bell 278 

For the sake of Somebody — 278 

May, thy Morn 278 

The lovely Lass of Inverness 278 

A red, red Rose 279 

O, wat ye wha's in yon Town ? 279 

A Vision 279 

O, wert thou in the cauld blast 280 

The Highland Lassie 280 

Jockey's ta'en the parting Kiss 281 

Peggy's Charms 281 

Up in the Morning eai'ly 281 

Tho' cruel Fate 281 

1 dream'd I lay where Flowers were 
springing 282 

Bonnie Ann 282 

My Bonnie Mary 282 

My Heart's in the Highlands 282 

There's a Youth in this City 283 

The ran tin Dog the Daddie o't 283 

I do confess thou art sae fair 283 

Yon wild mossy Mountains 284 

Wha is that at my Bower Door ? 284 

Farewell to Nancy 285 

The bonnie Blink o' Mary's Ee 285 

Out over the Forth 285 

The bonnie Lad that's far away 285 

The gowden Locks of Anna 286 

Banks of Devon 286 

Adown winding Nith , 287 

Streams that glide 287 



PAGE 

The De'il's awa' wi' the Exciseman.. 287 

Blithe hae I been on yon Hill 288 

O were my Love yon Lilac fair 288 

Come, let me take thee 288 

Where are the Joys ? 289 

O saw ye my Dear ? 289 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 290 

My Chloris 290 

Charming Month of May 290 

Let not woman e'er complain 291 

O Philly 291 

John Barleycorn 291 

Canst thou leave me thus ? 292 

On Chloris being ill 293 

When Guilford good our Pilot stood.. 293 

The Rigs o' Barley 294 

Farewell to Eliza 294 

IMy Nannie, O 294 

Green grow the Rashes 295 

Now westlin Winds 296 

The big-bellied Bottle 296 

The Author's Farewell to his native 

Country 297 

The Farewell 297 

And maun I still on Menie doat 298 

Highland Mary 298 

Auld Lang Syne 299 

Bannockburn 299 

The gallant Weaver 300 

Song 300 

For a' that and a' that 300 

Dainty Davie 301 

To Mr. Cunningham 301 

Clarinda 301 

Why, why tell thy Lover ? 302 

Caledonia 302 

On the battle of Sheriff -Muir 303 

The Dumfries Volunteers 304 

O wha is she that lo'es me ? 304 

Captain Grose 305 

Whistle owre the Lave o't 305 

O, once I lov'd a bonnie Lass 305 

Young Jockey 306 

M-Pherson's Farewell 306 

The Dean of Faculty 306 

I'll ay ca' in by yon Town 307 

A Bottle and a Friend 307 

I'll kiss thee yet 307 

On Cessnock Banks 307 

Prayer for Mary 308 

Young Peggy 309 

There'll never be Peace till Jamie 

comes hame 309 

There was a Lad 310 

To Mary 310 

Mary Morison 310 

The Sodger's Return 311 

My Father was a Farmer 311 

A Mother's Lament for the Death of 

her Son 313 

Bonnie Lesley 313 

Amang the Trees 313 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle. . . 313 

On Sensibility 313 

Montgomerie's Peggy 314 

On a Bank of Flowers 314 

O raging Fortune's withering Blast. . 314 

Evan Banks ,314 

AVomen's Minds 315 

To Mary in Heaven 315 



CONTENTS. 



Vll 



PAGE 

To Mary 316 

O leave Novels 316 

Address to General Dumourier 316 

Sweetest May 317 

One Night as I did wander 317 

The Winter it is Past 317 

Fragment 317 

The Chevalier's Lament 317 

The Belles of Mauchline 318 

The Tarbolton Lasses 318 

The Tarbolton Lasses 318 

Here's a Health to them that's awa'. 320 

I'm owre young to marry yet 320 

Damon and Sylvia 320 

My Lady's Gown there's Gairs upon't 320 

O ay my Wife she dang me 321 

The Banks of Nith 321 

Bonnie Peg 321 

O lay thy Loof in mine, Lass 321 

O guid Ale comes 321 

O whv the Deuce 322 

Polly"Stewart 322 

Kobin shure in hairst 322 

The five Carlins 322 

The Deuk's dang o'er my Daddie 323 

The Lass that made the Bed to me. . . 324 

The Union 324 

There was a bonnie Lass 325 

My Harry was a Gallant gay 325 

Tibbie Dunbar 325 

Wee Willie 325 

Craigie-burn-wood 326 

Here's his Health in Water 32d 

As down the Burn they took their 

Way 326 

Lady Onlie 326 

As I was a wandering 327 

Bannocks o' Barley 327 

Our Thrissles flourished fresh and 

fair 327 

Peg-a-Ramsey 328 

Come boat me o'er to Charlie 328 

Braw Lads of Galla Water 328 

Coming through the Rye 328 

The Lass of Ecclefechan 329 

The Slave's Lament 329 

Had I the Wyte 329 

Hee Balou 329 

Her Daddie forbad 330 

Here's to thy Health, my bonnie Lass 330 

Hey, the dusty Miller 330 

The Cardin o't 330 

The joyful Widower 331 

Thenie'l Menzie's bonnie Mary 331 

The Farewell 331 

It is na, Jean, thy bonnie Face 331 

Jamie, come try me 332 

Landlady, count the Lawin 332 

My Love she's but a Lassie yet 333 



AGE 

My Heart was ance 332 

Lovely Davies 333 

Kenmure's on and awa 333 

The Captain's Lady 333 

Lady Mary Ann 334 

The Highland Widow's Lament a34 

Merry hae I been teethin' a Heckle.. . 334 

Ratthn', roarin' Willie 335 

O Mally 's meek, Mally 's sweet 335 

Sae far awa 336 

O steer her up 336 

O, whar did ye get 336 

The Fete Champetre 336 

Simmer's a pleasant Time 337 

The blude red Rose at Yule may blaw 337 

The Highland Laddie 338 

The Cooper o' Cuddie 338 

Nithsdale's welcome Hame 339 

The Tailor 339 

The tither Morn 339 

The Carle of Kellyburn Braes 340 

There was a Lass 341 

The weary Fund o' Tow 342 

The Ploughman 342 

The Carles of Dysart 342 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray — 343 

My Hoggie 343 

Where hae ye been 343 

Cock up your Beaver 343 

The Heron Ballads. First Ballad. . . . 343 

The Election. Second Ballad 344 

An excellent new Song. Third Ballad 345 

John Bushbv's Lamentation 346 

Ye sons of Old Killie 347 

Ye Jacobites by name 347 

Song— Ah, Chloris 348 

Whan I sleep I dream 348 

Katharine Jaffray 348 

The ColUer Laddie 348 

Wlien I think on the happy Days 349 

Young Jamie, pride of a' the Plain. . . 349 

The Heather was blooming 349 

Wae is my Heart 349 

EppieM'Nab 350 

An, O! my Eppie 350 

Gude'en to you, Kimmer 350 

O that I had ne'er been married 351 

There's News, Lasses 351 

Scroggam 351 

Frae the Friends and Land I love 351 

The Laddies by the Banks o' Nith — 351 

The bonnie Lass of Albany 352 

Song 352 

Appendix : — 

Elegy 354 

Extempore. To Mr. Gavin Hamil- 
ton 355 

Versicles on Sign-posts 355 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 



Robert Burns was bom about two miles to the south of Ayr, in the 
neighborhood of AUoway Kirk and the Bridge of Doon, on the 2oth 
January, 1759. The cottage, a clay one, had been constructed by his 
father, and a week after the poet's birth it gave way in a violent wind, 
and mother and child were carried at midnight to theshelter of a neighbor's 
j dwelling. 

When Burns became famous he wore, more however for ornament than 
use — like the second jacket of a hussar — a certain vague Jacobitism. Both 
in his verses and his letters he makes allusion to the constancy with which 
his ancestors followed the banner of the Stuarts, and to the misfortunes 
which their loyalty brought upon them. The family was a Kincardine- 
shire one — in which county indeed, it can be traced pretty far back by in- 
scriptions in churchyards, documents appertaining to leases and the like — 
and the poet's grandfather and uncles were out, it is said, in the Rebellion 
of 1715. When the title and estates of the Earl Marischal were forfeited on 
account of the uprising, Burns's grandfather seems to have been brought 
into trouble. He lost his farm, and his son came southward in search of 
employment. The poet's father, who spelt his name Burnes, and who 
was suspected of having a share in the Rebellion of 1745, came into the 
neighborhood of Edinburgh, where he obtained employment as a gardener. 
Afterwards he went into Ayrshire, where, becoming overseer to Mr. Fergu- 
son of Doonholm and leasing a few acres of land, he erected a house and 
brought home his wife, Agnes Brown, in December, 1757. Robert was the 
firstborn. Brain, hypochondria, and general superiority, he inherited from 
his father ; from his mother he drew his lyrical gift, his wit, his mirth. 
She had a fine complexion, bright dark eyes, cheerful spirits, and a memory 
stored with song and ballad— a love for which Robert drew in with her 
milk. 

In 1766, William Burnes removed to the farm of Mount Oliphant in the 
parish of Ayr ; but the soil was sour and bitter, and on the death of Mr. 
Ferguson, to whom Mount Oliphant belonged, the management of the estate 
fell into the hands of a factor, of whom all the world has heard. Disputes 
arose between the official and the tenant. Harsh letters were read by the 
fireside at Mount Oliphant, and were remembered years afterwards, bitterly 
enough, by at least one of the listeners. Burnes left his farm after aa 

3 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 



occupancy of six years, and removed to LocUea, a larger and better one in 
the parish of Tarbolton. Here, however, an unfortunate difference arose 
between tenant and landlord as to the conditions of lease. Arbiters were 
chosen, and a decision was given in favor of the proprietor. This misfor- 
tune seems to have broken the spirit of Burnes. He died of consumption 
on the 13th February, 1784, aged 63, weary enough of his long strife with 
poverty and im genial soils, but not before he had learned to take pride in 
the abilities of his eldest son, and to tremble for his passions. 

Burnes was an admirable specimen of the Scottish yeoman, or small 
farmer, of the last century ; for peasant he never was, nor did he come of 
a race of peasants. In his whole mental build and training he was supe- 
rior to the people by whom he was surrounded. He had forefathers he 
could look back to ; he had family traditions which he kept sacred. Hard- 
headed, industrious, religious, somewhat austere, he ruled his household 
with a despotism, which affection and respect on the part of the ruled made 
light and easy. To the blood of the Burneses, a love of knowledge was 
native, as valor, in the old times, was native to the blood of the Douglasses. 
The poet's grandfather built a school at Clockenhill in Kincardine, the first 
known in that part of the country. Burnes was of the same strain, and 
he resolved that his sons should have every educational advantage his 
means could allow. To secure this he was willing to rise early and drudge 
late. Accordingly, Robert, when six years old, was sent to a school at 
Alloway Mill ; and on the removal of the teacher a few months afterwards 
to another post, Burnes, in conjunction with a few of his neighbors, en- 
gaged Mr. John Murdoch, boarding him in their houses by turns, and 
paying him a small sum of money quarterly. Mr. Murdoch entered upon 
his duties, and had Robert and Gilbert for pupils. Under him they ac- 
quired reading, spelling, and writing ; they were drilled in English gram- 
mar, taught to turn verse into prose, to substitute synonymous expressions 
for poetical words, and to supply ellipses. He also attempted to teach 
them a little Church music, but with no great success. He seems to have 
taken to the boys, and to have been pleased with their industry and intelli- 
gence. Gilbert was his favorite on account of his gay spirits and frolic- 
some look. Robert was by comparison taciturn — distinctly stupid in the 
matter of psalmody — and his countenance was swarthy, serious, and 
grave. 

Our information respecting the family circle at Mount Oliphant, more 
interesting noio than that of any other contemporary Scottish family circle, 
is derived entirely from the reminiscences of the tutor, and of Gilbert and 
Robert themselves. And however we may value every trivial fact and 
hint, and attempt to make it a window of insight, these days, as they 
passed on, seemed dull and matter-of-fact enough to all concerned. Mr. 
Murdoch considered his pupils creditably diligent, but nowise remarkable. 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 



To Gilbert, these early years were made interesting when looked back 
1 upon in the light of his brother's glory. Of that period, Robert wrote a 
I good deal at various times to various con-espondents, when the world had 
become curious ; but as in the case of all such writings, he unconsciously 
I mixes the past with the present — looks back on his ninth year with the 
I eyes of his thirtieth. He tell us that he was by no means a favorite with 
anybody ; that though it cost the master some thrashings, " I made an ex- 
cellent English scholar ; and by the time I was ten or eleven years of age, 
I was a critic in substantives, verbs, and particles. " Also we are told that 
, in the family resided a certain old woman — Betty Davidson by name, as 
I research has discovered — who had the largest collection in the country of 
tales and songs concerning devils, ghost, fairies, etc. ; and that to the re- 
cital of these Robert gave attentive ear, unconsciously laying up material 
for future Tams-o-8Jianter, and Addresses to the Deil. As for books, he 
had procured the Life of Hannibal, and the Histovi/ of Sir William Wallace: 
the first of a classical turn, lent by Mr. Murdoch ; the second, purely 
traditionary, the property of a neighboring blacksmith, constituting prob- 
ably his entire secular library ; and in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, he de- 
scribes how the perusal of the latter moved him, — 

" In those boyish days, I remember in particular being struck with that 
part of Wallace's story where these lines occur : 

Syne to the Leglen wood when it was late, 
To make a silent and a safe retreat. 

I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day my line of life allowed, and 
walked half a dozen miles to pay my respects to the Leglen wood, with as 
much devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim did to Loretto, and explored 
every den and dell where I could suppose my heroic countryman to have 
lodged." 

When Mr. Murdoch left Mount Oliphant, the education of the family 
fell on the father, who, when the boys came in from labor on the edge of 
the wintry twilight, lit his candle and taught them arithmetic. He also, 
when engaged in work with his sons, directed the conversation to improv- 
ing subjects. He got books for them from a book society in Ayr ; among 
which are named Derham's Physico and Astro- Theology, and Ray's Wisdom 
of God. Stackhouse's History of the Bible was in the house, and from it 
Robert contrived to extract a considerable knowledge of ancient history. 
Mr. Murdoch sometimes visited the family and brought books with him. 
On one occasion he read Titus Andronicus aloud at Mount Oliphant, and 
Robert's pure taste rose in a passionate revolt against its coarse cruelties 
and unspiritual horrors. When about fourteen years of age, he and his 
brother Gilbert were sent "week about during a summer quarter "to a 
parish school two or three miles distant from the farm to improve them- 
selves in penmanship. Next year, about midsummer, Robert spent three 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 



weeks with his tutor, Murdoch, who had established himself in Ayr. The 
first week was given to a careful revision of the English Grammar, the 
remaining fortnight was devoted to French, and on his return he brought 
with him the Adventures of TeUmachus and a French Dictionary, and with 
these he used to work alone during his evenings. He also turned his 
attention to Latin, but does not seem to have made much progress therein, 
although in after-life he could introduce a sentence or so of the ancient 
tongue to adorn his correspondence. By the time the family had left 
Mount Oliphant, he had torn the heart out of a good many books, among 
which were several theological works, some of a philosophical nature, a few 
novels, the Spectator, Shakespeare, Pope's Homer, and, above all, the Works 
of Allan Ramsay. These, with the Bible, a collection of English songs, 
and a collection of letters, were almost the only books he was acquainted 
with when he broke out in literature. No great library certainly, but he 
had a quick eye and ear, and all Ayrshire was an open page to him, filled 
with strange matter, which he only needed to read off into passionate love- 
song or blistering satire. 

In his sixteenth year the family removed from Mount Oliphant to Loch- 
lea. Here Robert and Gilbert were employed regularly on the farm, and 
received from their father £7 per annum of wages. Up till now. Burns 
had led a solitary self-contained life, with no companionship save his own 
thoughts and what books he could procure, with no acquaintances save his 
father, his brother, and Mr. Murdoch. This seclusion was now about to 
cease. In his seventeenth year, "to give his manners a finish, " he went 
to a country dancing school, — an important step in life for any young 
fellow, a specially important step for a youth of his years, heart, brain, 
and passion. In the Tarbolton dancing school the outer world with its 
fascinations burst upon him. It was like attaining majority and freedom. 
It was like coming up to London from the provinces. Here he first felt 
the sweets of society, and could assure himself of the truthfulness of his 
innate sense of superiority. At the dancing school, he encountered other 
young rustics laudably ambitious of " brushing up their manners," and, 
what was of more consequence, he encountered their partners also. This 
was his first season, and he was as gay as a young man of fortune who had 
entered on his first London one. His days were spent in hard work, but 
the evenings M^ere his own, and these he seems to have spent almost en- 
tirely in sweethearting on his own account, or on that of others. His 
brother tells us that he was almost constantly in love. His inamoratas 
were the freckled beauties who milked cows and hoed potatoes ; but his 
passionate imagination attired them with the most wonderful graces. He 
was Antony, and he found a Cleopatra — for whom the world were well 
lost — in every harvest field. For some years onward he did not read much ; 
indeed, his fruitful reading, with the exception of Fergusson's Poems, of 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 



which hereafter, was accomplished by the time he was seventeen ; his 
leisure being occupied in making love to rustic maids, where his big black 
eyes could come into play. Perhaps, on the whole, looking to poetic out- 
come, he could not have employed himself to better purpose. 

He was now rapidly getting perilous cargo on board. The Tarbolton 
dancing school introduced him to unlimited sweethearting, and his nine- 
teenth summer, which he spent in the study of mensuration, at the school 
at Kirkoswald, made him acquainted with the interior of taverns, and with 
" scenes of swaggering riot." He also made the acquaintance of certain 
smugglers who frequented that bare and deeply-coved coast, and seems 
to have been attracted by their lawless ways and speeches. It is charac- 
teristic, that in the midst of his studies, he was upset by the charms of a 
country girl who lived next door to the school. While taking the sun's 

I altitude, he observed her walking in the adjoining garden, and Love put 
Trigonometry to flight. During his stay at Kirkoswald, he had read 
Shenstone and Thomson, and on his return home he maintained a literary 

I correspondence with his schoolfellows, and pleased his vanity with the 
thought that he could turn a sentence with greater skill and neatness than 
any one of them. 

For some time it had been Burns's habit to take a small portion of land 
from his father for the purpose of raising flax : and, as he had now some 
idea of settling in life, it struck him that if he could add to his farmer- 

I craft the accomplishment of flax-dressing, it might not be unprofitable. He 
accordingly went to live with a relation of his mother's in Irvine — Peacock 
by name — who followed that business, and with him for some time he 
worked with diligence and success. But while welcoming the New Year 
morning after a bacchanalian fashion, the premises took fire, and his 
schemes were laid waste. Just at this time, too — to complete his discom- 
fiture — he had been jilted by a sweetheart, "who had pledged her soul to 
meet him in the field of matrimony." In almost all the foul weather which 
Burns encountered, a woman may be discovered flitting through it like a 
stormy petrel. His residence at Irvine was a loss, in a worldly point of 
view, but there he ripened rapidly, both spiritually and poetically. At 
Irvine, as at Kirkoswald, he made the acquaintance of persons engaged in 
contraband traffic, and he tells us that a chief friend of his "spoke of 
illicit love with the levity of a sailor — which, hitherto, I had regarded 
with horror. There his friendship did me a mischief." About this time, 
too, John Rankine — to whom he afterwards addressed several of his 
epistles — introduced him to St. Mary's Lodge, in Tarbolton, and he became 
an enthusiastic Freemason. Of his mental states and intellectual progress 
we are furnished with numerous hints. He was member of a debating 
club at Tarbolton, and the question for Hallowe'en still exists in his hand- 
writing. It is as follows; "Suppose a young man, bred a farmer, but 



8 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

■without any fortune, has it in his power to marry either of two women, 
the one a girl of large fortune, but neither handsome in person nor agree- 
able in conversation, but who can manage the household affairs of a farm 
well enough ; the other of them a girl every way agreeable in person, con- 
versation, and behavior, but without any fortune ; which of them shall he 
choose?" Not a bad subject for a collection of clever rustics to sharpen 
their wits upon ! We may surmise that Burns found himself as much 
superior in debate to his companions at the Bachelors' Club as he had 
previously found himself superior to his Kirkoswald correspondents in 
letter-writing. The question for the Hallowe'en discussion is interesting 
mainly in so far as it indicates what kind of discussions were being at that 
time conducted in his own brain ; and also how habitually, then and after- 
wards, his thinking grew out of his personal condition and surroundings. 
A question of this kind interested him more than whether, for instance, 
Cromwell deserved well of his country. Neither now nor afterguards did 
he trouble himself much about far-rcnoved things. He cared for no other 
land than Caledonia. He did not sing of Helen's beauty, but of the beauty 
of the country girl he loved. His poems were as much the product of his 
own farm and its immediate neighborhood, as were the clothes and shoes 
he wore, the oats and turnips he grew. Another aspect of him may be 
found in the letter addressed to his father three days before the Irvine 
flax-shop went on fire. It ic infected with a magnificent hypochondriasis. 
It is written as by a Bolingbroke — by a man who had played for a mighty 
stake, and who, when defeated, could smile gloomily and turn fortune's 
slipperiness into parables. And all the while the dark philosophy and 
the rolling periods flowed from the pen of a country lad, whose lodgings 
are understood to have cost a shilling per week, and " whose meal was 
nearly out, but who was going to borrow till he got more." One other 
circumstance attending his Irvine life deserves notice — his falling in with 
a copy of Fergusson's Poems. For some time previously he had not writ- 
ten much, but Fergusson stirred him with emulation ; and on his removal 
to Mossgiel, shortly afterwards, he in a single winter poured forth more 
immortal verse — measured by mere quantity — than almost any poet in the 
same space of time, either before his day or after. 

Three months before the death of the elder Burns, Robert and Gilbert 
rented the farm of Mossgiel in the parish of Mauchline. The farm con- 
sisted of 119 acres, and its rent was £90. After the father's death the 
whole family removed thither. Burns was now twenty -four years of age, 
and come to his full strength of limb, brain, and passion. As a young 
farmer on his own account, he mixed more freely than hitherto in the 
society of the country-side, and in a more independent fashion. He had 
the black eyes which Sir Walter saw afterwards in Edinburgh, and re- 
membered to have " glowed." He had wit, which convulsed the Masonic 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 



Meetings, and a rough-and-ready sarcasm with which he flayed his foes. 
Besides all this, his companionship at Irvine had borne its fruits. He had 
become the father of an illegitimate child, had been rebuked for his trans- 
gression before the congregation, and had, in revenge, written witty and 
wicked verses on the reprimand and its occasion, to his correspondent 
Rankine. And when we note here that he came into fierce collision with 
at least one section of the clergy of his country, all the conditions have 
been indicated which went to make up Burns the man and Burns the 
poet. 

Ayrshire was at this period a sort of theological bear-garden. The 
more important clergymen of the district were divided into New Lights 
and Auld Lights ; they wrangled in Church Courts, they wrote and ha- 
rangued against each other ; and, as the adherents of the one party or the 
; other made up almost the entire population, and as in such disputes 
Scotchmen take an extraordinary interest, the county was set very prettily 
by the ears. The Auld Light divines were strict Calvinists, laying great 
stress on the doctrine of Justification by Faith, and inclined generally to 
! exercise spiritual authority after a somewhat despotic fashion. The New 
Light divines were less dogmatic, less inclined to religious gloom and 
acerbity, and they possessed, on the whole, more literature and knowledge 
, of the world. Burns became deeply interested in the theological warfare, 
and at once ranged himself on the liberal side. From his being a poet this 
' was to have been expected, but various circumstances concurred in mak- 
ing his partisanship more than usually decided. The elder Burnes was, 
in his ways of thinking, a New Light, and his religious notions he im- 
pressed carefully on his children,— his son consequently, in taking up the 
ground he did, was acting in accordance with received ideas and with 
early training. Besides, Burns's most important friends at this period— 
i Mr. Gavin Hamilton, from whom he held his farm on a sub-lease, and Mr. 
I Aitken, to whom the Cotter's Saturday Night was dedicated— were in the 
I thick of the contest on the New Light side. Mr. Hamilton was engaged 
I in personal dispute with the Rev. Mr. Auld— the clergyman who rebuked 

. Burns and Mr. Aitken had the management of the case of Dr. MacGill, 

i who was cited before the local Church Courts on a charge of heterodoxy. 
I Hamilton and Aitken held a certain position in the county,— they were 
I full of talent, they were hospitable, they were witty in themselves, and 
I could appreciate wit in others. They were of higher social rank than 
' Burns's associates had hitherto been, they had formed a warm friendsliip 
I for him, and it was not unnatural that he should become their ally, and 
serve their cause with what weapons he had. Besides, wit has ever been 
a foe to the Puritan. Cavaliers fight with song and jest, as well as with 
I sword and spear, and sometimes more effectively. Hudibras and Worces- 
ter are flung into opposite scales, and make the balance even. From 



10 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

training and temperament. Burns was an enemy of the Auld Light sec- 
tion; conscious of his powers, and burning to distinguish himself, h« 
searched for an opportunity as anxiously as ever did Irishman for a head 
at Donnyhrook, and when he found it, he struck, without too curiously 
inquiring into the rights and wrongs of the matter. At Masonic Meetings, 
at the tables of his friends, at fairs, at gatherings round church-doors 
on Sundays, he argued, talked, joked, flung out sarcasms— to be gathered 
up, repeated, and re-repeated — and maddened in every way the wild-boar 
of orthodoxy by the javelins of epigram. The satirical opportunity at 
length came, and Burns was not slow to take advantage of it. Two Auld 
Light divines, the Eev. John Russel and the Bev. Alex. Moodie, quarrelled 
about their respective parochial boundaries, and the question came before 
the Presbytery for settlement. In the court — when Burns was present — 
the reverend gentlemen indulged in coarse personal altercation, and the 
Iwa Herds was the result. Copies of this satire were handed about, and 
for the first time Burns tasted how sweet a thing was applause. The 
circle of his acquaintances extended itself, and he could now call several 
clergymen of the moderate party his friends. The Tica Herds was followed 
by the tremendous satire of Holy Willie's Prayer, and by the Holy Fair, — 
the last equally witty, equally familiar in its allusions to sacred things, 
but distinguished by short poetic touches, by descriptions of character and 
manners, unknown in Scottish poetry since the days of Dunbar, These 
pieces caused great stir : friends admired and applauded ; foes hated and 
reviled. His brother Gilbert spoke words of caution which, had Burns 
heeded, it would have been better for his fame. But to check such thunder 
in mid-volley was, perhaps, more than could have been expected of poetic 
flesh and blood. 

Burns interested himself deeply in the theological disputes of his dis- 
trict, but he did not employ himself entirely jn writing squibs against that 
section of the clergy which he disliked. He had already composed Maine's 
Elegy and the Epistle to Dame : the first working in an element of humor 
ennobled by moral reflection, a peculiar manner in which he lived to pro- 
duce finer specimens ; the second almost purely didactic, and which he 
hardly ever surpassed ; and as he was now in the full flush of inspiration, 
every other day produced its poem. He did not go far a-field for his sub- 
jects; he found sufficient inspiration in his daily life and the most famil- 
iar objects. The schoolmaster of Tarbolton had established a shop for 
groceries, and having a liking for the study of medicine, he took upon him- 
self the airs of a physician, and advertised that " advice would be given 
in common disorders, at the shop, gratis. " On one occasion, at the Tar- 
bolton Mason-lodge, when Burns was present, the schoolmaster made a 
somewhat ostentatious display of his medical acquirements. To a man so 
easily moved as Bums, this hint was sufficient. On his way home from 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. II 

the Lodge the terrible grotesquerie of Death and Dr. Hornbook floated 
through his mind, and on the following afternoon the verses were repeated 
to Gilbert. Not long after, in a Sunday afternoon walk, he recited to Gil- 
bert the Cotters Saturday Night, who described himself as electrified by 
the recital — as indeed he might well be. To Gilbert also the Address to 
the Deil was repeated while the two brothers were engaged with their 
carts in bringing home coals for family use. At this time, too, his poetic 
Ejnstles to Laj)raik and others were composed — pieces which for terve and 
hurry and gush of versification seem to have been written at a sitting, yet 
for curious felicities of expression might have been under the file for years. 
It w-as Burns's habit, Mr. Chambers tells us, to keep his MSS. in the 
drawer of a little deal table in the garret at Mossgiel ; and his youngest 
sister was wont, when he went out to afternoon labor, to slip up quietly 
land hunt for the freshly- written verses. Indeed, during the winter of 
1785-86 Burns wrote almost all the poems which were afterwards pub- 
lished in the Kilmarnock edition. 

I But at this time he had other matters on hand than the writing of verses. 
'The farm at Mossgiel was turning out badly; the soil was sour and wet, 
and, from mistakes in the matter of seed, the crops were failures. His 
prospects were made still darker by his relation with Jean Armour. He 
had made the acquaintance of this young woman at a penny w^edding in 
Mauchline, shortly after he went to reside at Mossgiel, and the acquaint- 
[anceship, on his part at least, soon ripened into passion. In the spring of 
1786, when baited with farming diflSculties, he learned that Jean w^as about 
ito become a mother, and the intelligence came on him like a thunder-clap, 
j Urged by a very proper feeling, he resolved to make the unhappy young 
I woman all the reparation in his power, and accordingly he placed in her 
! hands a written acknowledgment of marriage — a document suflEicient by 
the law of Scotland to legalize their connexion, though after a somewhat 
I irregular fashion. When Mr. Armour heard of Jean's intimacy with Burns 
and its miserable result, he was moved with indignation, and he finally 
persuaded her to deliver into his hands Burns's written paper, and this 
document he destroyed, although, for anything he knew, he destroyed 
along with it his daughter's good fame. Burns's feelings at this crisis 
may be imagined. Pride, love, anger, despair, strove for mastery in his 
breast. Weary of his country, almost of his existence, and seeing ruin 
I staring him in the face at Mossgiel, he resolved to seek better fortune and 
solace for a lacerated heart, in exile. He accordingly arranged with Dr. 
i Douglas to act as book-keeper on his estate in Jamaica. In order to earn 
the passage money, he was advised to publish the wonderful verses then 
lying in the drawer of the deal table at Mossgiel. This advice jumped 
pleasantly enough with his own wishes, and without loss of time he issued 
4is subscription papers and began to prepare for the press. He knew that 



12 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

his poems possessed merit ; he felt that applause would sweeten his ' ' good 
night." It is curious to think of Burns's wretched state — in a spiritual as 
well as a pecuniary sense — at this time, and of the centenary the other 
year which girdled the planet as with a blaze of festal fire and a roll of 
triumphal drums! Curious to think that the volume which Scotland 
regards as the most precious in her possession should have been published 
to raise nine pounds to carry its author into exile. 

All the world has heard of Highland Mary— in life a maid-servant in the 
family of Mr. Hamilton, after death to be remembered with Dante's Bea- 
trice and Petrarch's Laura. How Burns and Mary became acquainted we 
have little means of knowing — indeed the whole relationship is somewhat 
obscure — but Burns loved her as he loved no other woman, and her mem- 
ory is preserved in the finest expression of his love and grief. Strangely 
enough, it seems to have been in the fierce rupture between himself and 
Jean that this white flower of love sprang up, sudden in its growth, brief 
in its passion and beauty. It was arranged that the lovers should become 
man and wife, and that Mary should return to her friends to prepare for 
her wedding. Before her departure there was a farewell scene. " On the 
second Sunday of May," Burns writes to Mr. Thomson, after an historical 
fashion which has something touching in it, "in a sequestered spot on the 
banks of the Ayr the interview took place." The lovers met and plighted 
solemn troth. According to popular statement, they stood on either side 
of a brook, they dipped their hands in the water, exchanged Bibles — and 
parted. Mary died at Greenock, and was buried in a dingy churchyard 
hemmed by narrow streets — beclanged now by innumerable hammers, and 
within a stone's throw of passing steamers. Information of her death was 
brought to Burns at Mossgiel ; he went to the window to read the letter, 
and the family noticed that on a sudden his face changed. He went out 
without speaking ; they respected his grief and were silent. On the whole 
matter Burns remained singularly reticent ; but years after, from a sudden 
geyser of impassioned song, we learn that through all that time she had 
never been forgotten. 

Jean was approaching her confinement, and having heard that Mr. Ar- 
mour was about to resort to legal measures to force him to maintain his 
expected progeny — an impossibility in his present circumstances — Burns 
left Mauchline and went to reside in the neighborliood of Kilmarnock, 
where, in gloomy mood enough, he corrected his proof sheets. The vol- 
ume appeared about the end of Jul}^, and thanks to the exertion of his 
friends, the impression was almost immediately exhausted. Its success 
was decided. All Ayrshire rang with its praise. His friends were of 
course anxious that he should remain in Scotland ; and as they possessed 
some influence, he lingered in Ayrshire, loth to depart, hoping that some- 
thing would turn up, but quite undecided as to the complexion and nature 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 1 3 

' of the desired something. Wronged as he considered himself to have been 
' by the Armour family, he was still conscious of a lingering affection for 
! Jean. The poems, having made a conquest of Ayrshire, began to radiate 
out on every side. Professor Dugald Stewart, then resident at Catrine, 
had a copy of the poems, and Dr. Blair, who was on a visit to the profes- 
I sor, had his attention drawn to them, and expressed the warmest admira- 
[ ! tion. Mrs. Dunlop of Dunlop on opening the book had been electrified by 

■ the Cotter's Saturday Night, as Gilbert had been before her, and imme- 
diately sent an express to Burns at Mossgiel with a letter of praise and 
thanks. All this was pleasant enough, but it did not materially mend the 

' situation. Burns could not live on praise alone, and accordingly, so soon 
" as he could muster nine guineas from the sale of his book, he took a steer- 
' age passage in a vessel which was expected to sail from Greenock at the 
' end of September. During the month of August he seems to have em- 
' ployed himself in collecting subscriptions, and taking farewell of his 

■ friends. Burns was an enthusiastic Mason, and we can imagine that his 
] last meeting with the Tarbolton Lodge would be a thing to remember. It 
^ was remembered, we learn from Mr. Chambers, by a surviving brother, 

John Lees. John said, "that Burns came in a pair of buckskins, out of 

■ which he would always pull the other shilling for the other bowl, till it 
' was five in the morning. An awfu' night that." Care left outside the 
' door, we can fancy how the wit would flash, and the big black eyes glow, 

on such an occasion ! 
The first edition of his poems being nearly exhausted, his friends encour- 
1 aged him to produce a second forthwith ; but, on application, it was found 
I that the Kilmarnock printer declined to undertake the risk, unless the price 
I of the paper was advanced beforehand. This outlay Burns was at this time 
1 unable to afford. On hearing of the circumstance, his friend Mr. Ballan- 
1 tyne offered to advance the money, but urged him to proceed to Edinburgli 
j and publish the second edition there. This advice commended itself to 

Burns's ambition, but for awhile he remained irresolute. Jean, meanwhile, 
' had been confined of twins, and from one of his letters we learn that the 

■ " feelings of a father" kept him lingering in Ayrshire. News of the suc- 
\ cess of his poems came in upon him on every side. Dr. Lawrie, minister 

of Loudon, to whose family he had recently paid a visit, had forwarded a 
' copy of the poems, with a sketch of the author's life, to Dr. Thomas Black- 
j lock, and had received a letter from that gentleman, expressing the warm- 
est admiration of the writer's genius, and urging that a second and larger 
I edition should at once be proceeded with; adding, that "its intrinsic 
merits, and the exertions of the author's friends, might give the volume 
j a more universal circulation than anything of the kind which has been 
published in my time." This letter, so full of encouragement, Dr. Lawrie 
' carried at once to Mr. Gavin Hamilton, and Mr. Hamilton lost no time in 



14 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

placing it in Burns's hands. The poems had been favorably reviewed in 
the Edinburgh Magazine for October, and this number of the periodical, so 
interesting to all its inmates, would, no doubt, find its way to Mossgiel. 
Burns seems to have made up his mind to proceed to Edinburgh about 
the 18th November, a step which was warmly approved by his brother 
Gilbert; and when his resolution was taken, he acted upon it with 
promptitude. 

He reached Edinburgh on the 28th November, 1786, and took up his 
residence with John Richmond, a Mauchline acquaintance, who occupied 
a. room in Baxter's Close, Lawnmarket, for which he paid three shillings a 
week. Burns for some time after his arrival seems to have had no special 
object; he wandered about the city, looking down from the castle on 
Princes Street; haunting Holyrood Palace and Chapel; standing with 
cloudy eyelid and hands meditatively knit beside the grave of Fergusson ; 
and from the Canongate glancing up with interest on the quaint tenement 
in which Allan Ramsay kept his shop, wrote his poems, and curled the 
wigs of a departed generation of Scotsmen. At the time of Burns's ar- 
rival, the Old Town towered up from Holyrood to the Castle, picturesque, 
smoke-wreathed ; and when the darkness came, its climbing tiers of lights 
and cressets were reflected in the yet existing Nor' Loch ; and the gray 
uniform streets and squares of the New Town — from which the visitor to- 
day can look down on low wooded lands, the Forth, and Fife beyond — 
were only in course of erection. The literary society of the time was bril- 
liant but exotic, like the French lily or the English rose. For a genera- 
tion and more the Scottish Philosophers, historians, and poets had brought 
their epigram from France as they brought their claret, and their humor 
from England as they brought their parliamentary intelligence. Blair of 
the Gram was a Scottish Dr. Young ; Home of Douglas a Scottish Otway ; 
Mackenzie a Scottish Addison ; and Dr. Blair — so far as his criticism was 
concerned — a sort of Scottish Dr. Johnson. The Scotch brain was genuine 
enough ; the faculty was native, but it poured itself into foreign moulds. 
The literary grandees wore decorations — honestly earned — but no one 
could discover amongst them the Order of the Thistle. These men, too, 
had done their work, and the burly black-eyed, humorous, passionate 
ploughman came up amongst them, the herald of a new day and a new 
order of things ; the first king of a new literary empire, in which he was 
to be succeeded by Walter Scott, — then a lad of sixteen, engrossing deeds 
in his father's office, with the Tweed murmuring in his ears, and Melrose 
standing in the light of his opening imagination — with Hogg, Gait, Wil- 
son, Lockhart, and the rest, for his satraps and lieutenants. 

Burns's arrival in Edinburgh was an historical event, far more impor- 
tant in itself, and in its issues, thap either he or than any other person sus* 
pectec" 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 1$ 

He soon got to work, however. In Ayrshire he had made the acquaint- 
ance of Mr. Dahymple of Oraugefield ; that gentleman introduced him to his 
brother-in-law, the Earl of Glencairn, then resident in Edinburgh ; and his 

' lordship introduced him to William Creech, the leading publisher in the 
city, at whose shop the wits were wont to congregate. Creech undertook 

I the publication of the new edition ; and, through the influence of Glen- 

I cairn, it was arranged that the Caledonian Hunt should subscribe for a 
hundred copies, and that a guinea should be paid for each. Meantime, 
Mr. Mackenzie, in the Lounger, of date 9th December, wrote a glowing 
criticism on the poems, which smoothed a way for them into the politer 
circles. The new edition, dedicated to the Caledonian Hunt, appeared on 

' the 21st April, 1787, containing a list of subscribers' names extending to 
more than thirty-eight pages. The Hunt, as we have seen, took one hun- 
dred copies, and several gentlemen and noblemen subscribed liberally — one 
taking twenty copies, a second forty copies, a third forty-two copies. The 
Scots Colleges in France and Spain are also set down as subscribers among 
individual names. This was splendid success, and Burns felt it. He was 
regarded as a phenomenon ; was asked hither and thither, frequently from 
kindness and pure admiration- -of ten, however, to be merely talked with 
and stared at : this he felt, too, and his vengeful spleen, well kept under 
on the whole, corroded his heai t like a fierce acid. During the winter pre- 
ceding the publication of the second edition, he was feted and caressed. 
He was patronized by the Duchess of Gordon. Lord Glencairn was hia 
friend, so also was Henry Erskine. He was frequently at Lord Mon 
boddo's, where he admired the daughter's beauty more than the father's 
philosophy ; he breakfasted with Dr. Blair ; he walked in the mornings to 
the Braid Hills with Professor Dugald Stewart ; and he frequently escaped 
from these lofty circles to the Masonic Lodge, or to the supper-tables of 
convivial lawyers, where he felt no restraint, where he could be wounded 
by no patronage, and where he flashed and coruscated, and became the soul 
of the revel. Fashionable and lettered saloons were astonished by Burns's 
talk ; but the interior of taverns — and in Edinburgh tavern life was all but 
universal at the time — saw the brighter and more constant blaze. This 
sudden change of fortune — so different from his old life in the Irvine flax 
heckling-shop, or working the sour Mossgiel lands, or the post of a book- 
keeper in Jamaica, which he looked forward to and so narrowly escaped — 
was not without its giddy and exciting pleasures, and for pleasure of every 
kind Burns had the keenest relish. Now and again, too, in the earlier days 
of his Edinburgh life, when success wore its newest gloss, and applause 
had a novel sweetness, a spirit of exhilaration escaped him, not the less 
real that it was veiled in a little scornful exaggeration. In writing to Mr. 
Hamilton, he says: "For my own affairs, I am in a fair way of becoming 
as eminent as Thomas a Kempis, or John Bunyan ; and you may expect 



l6 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

henceforth to see my birthday inserted among the wonderful events in the 
Poor Robin and Aberdeen Almanacks, along with Black Monday and the 
battle of Bothwell Bridge." In any case, if he did feel flattered by the 
attention paid him by society, he had time to cool and strike a balance in 
his friend Richmond's garret in the Lawnmarket — where he slept, Mr. 
Lockhart informs us, during the whole of that glittering and exciting 
winter. 

Hitherto, the world had seen but little of Burns personally. It had 
heard his voice as of one singing behind the scenes, and been moved to 
admiration ; and when he presented himself in the full blaze of the foot- 
lights, he became the cynosure of every eye, and the point on which con- 
verged every critical opera-glass. Edinburgh and Burns confronted each 
other. Edinburgh " took stock " of Burns, Burns "took stock" of Edin- 
burgh, and it is interesting to note the mutual impressions. From all that 
can be gathered from Dr. Blair, Professors Dugald Stewart, Walker, and 
others. Burns acquitted himself in his new circumstances admirably. He 
never lost head, he never let a word of exultation escape him, his deport- 
ment was everywhere respectful yet self-possessed ; he talked well and 
freely — for he knew he was expected to talk — but he did not engross con- 
versation. His "deferential" address won his way to female favor: and 
the only two breaches of decorum which are recorded of him in society, 
maybe palliated by his probable ignorance of his host's feelings and vani- 
ties on the first occasion, and on the second, by the peculiar provocation 
he received. Asked in Dr. Blair's house, and in Dr. Blair's presence, from 
which of the city preachers he had derived the greatest gratification, it 
would have been fulsome had Burns said, turning to the Doctor, "I con- 
sider you. Sir, the greatest pulpit orator I have ever heard." The ques- 
tion was a most improper one in the circumstances ; and if the company 
were thrown into a state of foolish embarrassment, and the host's feelings 
wounded by Burns giving the palm to his colleague — then the company 
were simply toadies of the sincerer sort, and the host less skilled in the 
world's ways than Burns, and possessed of less natural good -breeding. In 
the second instance when, in a sentence more remarkable for force than 
grace, he extinguished a clergyman who abused Gray's Elegy, but who 
could not quote a line of it correctly, he merely gave way to a swift and 
not ungenerous instinct — for which he was, no doubt, sorry the next 
moment. He cannot be defended altogether, although even here one can 
hardly help rendering him a sneaking approval. Bad language at a break- 
fast-table, and addressed to a clergyman, is improper — but, on the other 
hand, no clergyman has a right to be a bore at a breakfast-table. Indeed, 
your critical and blundering bore, whether clergyman or no — all the more 
sedulously, perhaps, if he be a clergyman — should keep out of the way of 
a Burns. Evil is certain to befall him if he do not. It is pretty evident, 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 1 7 

however, from the records left, that Dr. Blair, Dugald Stewart, and others, 
did not really know Burns — did not, in fact, take much pains to know him. 
They never met him on frank, cordial, and brotherly terms. They looked 
on him curiously, as one looks on a strange insect, through a microscope. 
From their learned heights they regarded him as on the plain beneath. 
They were ever ready with advice, and counselled him to stand armed at 
points where no danger could possibly appear. Of all the good things in 
the world, advice is practically the least useful. If a man is fool enough 
to need advice, the chances are he will be fool enough to resent it when 
given, or neglect it when the critical moment arrives. The Edinburgh 
literati did not quite well know what to make of Burns. He was a new 
thing under the sun, and they could not fall back on precedent. They 
patronized him kindly, heartily, for the most part — but still it was pat- 
ronage. And it has come about that, in the lapse of seventy years, the 
relations of the parties have been quite reversed — ac in dissolving views, 
the image of Burns has come out in bolder relief and brighter colors, while 
his patrons have lost outline, have dwindled, and become shadowy. Dr. 
Blair and Lord Monboddo will be remembered mainly by the circumstance 
that the one invited Burns to his evening entertainments, and the other 
to his breakfasts. Burns has kept that whole literary generation from 
oblivion, and from oblivion he will keep it yet awhile. 

On the other hand, it is quite evident, that although Burns, during that 
brilliant winter, masked himself skilfully, he bore an inward smart. He 
felt that he was regarded as meteoric, a wonder ; that he did not fit into 
existing orders of things, and that in Edinburgh he had no familiar and 
received status. Consequently, he was never sure of his ground; and 
while, for the most part, careful to offend no one, he was passionately 
jealous of condescension and suspicious of personal affront. The men 
amongst whom he mingled had their positions in the world, and in these 
positions they had the ease of use and wont. Their couches were made 
soft by the down of customariness. They had all the social proprieties 
and traditions at their backs. From the past, they flowered out socially 
and professionally. With Burns everything was different. He had in 
Edinburgh, so to speak, neither father nor mother. He had neither pre- 
decessor nor antecedent. He could roll in no groove made smooth by cus- 
tom ; and hence it is, when in bitter mood, we find him making such ex- 
travagant claims for genius against dull rich men, or dull well-born men, 
or semi-dull men, who had been successful in the professions. He knew 
that genius was his sole claim to the notice of the brilliant personages he 
met night after night ; that but for it he was a small Ayrshire farmer, 
whom not one of those people would invite to their tables, or bid " Good 
day " to, if they met him on a country road. It was admirable in Scott, 
to waive, as he continually did, all claim to special regard on account of 



I8 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

his genius, but it was easy for Scott to do this. Scott would have dined 
well every day of his life, he would have lived with cultivated and refined 
people, and would have enjoyed a fair share of social distinction, although 
he had never written Marmion or Ivanhoe. But Burns's sole title to notice 
was genius — take that from him, he was instantly denuded of his singing 
robes, and left in the hodden gray of the farmer, with a splash of mud on 
his top-boots. In his commonplace book — a very pool of Marah — which 
he kept at Edinburgh, there is an entry which brings all this out in a clear 
light. 

"There are few of the sore evils under the sun give me more uneasiness 
»nd chagrin than the comparison how a man of genius, nay, of avowed 
worth, is received everywhere, with the reception which a mere ordinary 
character, decorated with the trappings and futile distinctions of fortune, 
meets. Imagine a man of abilities, his heart glowing with honest pride, 
conscious that men are born equal, still giving Jionor to whom Iwnov is due ; 
he meets at a great man's table a Squire Something, or a Sir Somebody ; 
he knows the noble landlord, at heart, gives the bard, or whatever he is, a 
share of his good wishes, beyond perhaps any one at table ; yet how will 
it mortify him to see a fellow, whose abilities would scarcely have made 
an eightpenny tailor, and whose heart is not worth three farthings, meet 
with attention and notice, that are withheld from the son of genius and 
poverty ! 

" The noble Glencaim has wounded me to the soul here, because I dearly 
esteem, respect, and love him. He showed so much attention, engrossing 
attention, one day, to the only blockhead at table (the whole company 
consisted of his lordship, dunder-pate, and myself), that I was within half 
a point of throwing down my gage of contemptuous defiance; but he 
shook my hand, and looked so benevolently good at parting. God bless 
him ! though I should never see him more I shall love him until my dying 
day ! I am pleased to think I am so capable of the throes of gratitude, as 
I am miserably deficient in some other virtues. 

"With Dr. Blair I am more at my ease. I never respect him with 
Jiumble veneration ; but when he kindly interests himself in my welfare, 
or, still more, when he descends from his pinnacle, and meets me on 
equal ground in conversation, my heart overflows with what is called 
liking. When he neglects me for the mere carcase of greatness, or when 
his eye measures the difference of our points of elevation, I say to 
myself, with scarcely any emotion, what do I care for him, or his pomp 
either ? " 

A man like Bums, living at a period when literature had not to any ex- 
tent become a profession, could not find his place amongst the recognized 
forces of the world — was doomed forever to be an outsider — and therein 
lay the tragedy of his life. He was continually making comparisons be- 
tween his own evil fortune and the good fortune of others. Proud, sus- 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. I9 

picious, swift to take offence, when his amour-propre was wounded, he 
was apt to salve it in the company of revellers whom he could meet on 
equal terms, and in whose society he could take out his revenge in sarcasm. 
As regards mere brain, he does not seem to have entertained any remark- 
able respect for the Edinburgh men of letters. He considered he had met 
as much intellectual capacity — unpolished and in the rough — in Tarbolton 
debating societies, Mauchline masonic meetings, and at the tables of the 
writers of Kilmarnock and Ayr. He admitted, however, that his residence 
in Edinburgh had brought him in contact with something new — a refined 
and accomplished woman. The admission is important, and meeting it 
one fancies for a moment that one has caught some sort of explanation of 
his future life. What might have been the result had Burns secured a 
career in which his fancy and intellect could have exercised themselves, 
and a wife, who to affection added refinement and accomplishment, we 
may surmise, but cannot tell.* A career he never secured ; and on his re- 
turn to Ayrshire, in passionate blindness, he forged chains for himself 
which he could not break — which it would have been criminal in him to 
have attempted to break. 

From Burns's correspondence while in Edinburgh we can see in what 
way he regarded his own position and prospects. He admitted that 
applause was pleasant ; he knew that as a poet he possessed some merit, 
but he constantly expressed his conviction that much of his success arose 
from the novelty of a poet appearing in his rank of life ; and he congratu- 
lates himself on the circumstances that — let literary reputation wax or 
wane— he had " an independence at the plough-tail" to fall back upon. 
He foresaw from the beginning that Edinburgh could be nothing more 
than a striking episode in his life, and that he was fated to return to 
the rural shades. Early in the year he had some conversation with Mr. 
Patrick Miller, relative to his becoming a tenant on that gentleman's estate 
at Dalswinton, and had promised to run down to Dumfriesshire and look 
at the lands some time in the following May. That Mr. IMiller was anxious 
to serve Burns, seems to have been generally known in Edinburgh ; for in 
Dr. Blair's letter, dated on 4tli May, 1787, in answer to a note written by 
Bums on the previous day, intimating that he was about to leave town, 
the Doctor supposes that he is '' going down to Dalswinton to look at some 
of Mr. Miller's farms." Before his return, Burns did intend to look at 
these farms, but at the moment farming was not the principal business in 
hand. He, in company with his young friend Ainslie, was on the wing 
for the south of Scotland — a district which was calling him with a hun- 
dred voices of tradition and ballad. On the day before starting, he sent 
Mr. Johnson, editor of the Scot's Musical Museum, a cordial letter, for he 
had entered with enthusiasm into that gentleman's work, and already 
written for it one or two songs — preliminary drops of the plenteous 



20 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

summer-shower which has kept so many secret places of the heart fresh 
and green. 

The companions left Edinburgh on horseback on 5th May. They visited 
Dunse, Coldstream, Kelso, Jedburgh, Melrose, Dryburgh, and Yarrow — 
Burns scattering jokes and epigrams all the way. About the middle of 
the month Ainslie returned to Edinburgh, and Burns then crossed into Eng- 
land, saw Hexham and Newcastle, and returned home by Carlisle and 
Dumfries. From Dumfries he went to Dalswinton, looked over the estate, 
but did not seem much enamored of its condition. He, however, arranged 
to meet Mr. Miller in August. He then came by Sanquhar to Mauchline, 
and dropped in u^Don his family unannounced. His meeting with these 
reticent hearts must be left to imagination. He went out from them ob- 
scure ; he returned to them illustrious, with a nimbus around his head. 
At home he renewed acquaintanceship with old friends, and found that 
Mr. Armour, who had treated him coldly in the day of his poverty and 
obscurity, was now inclined to regard him with a favorable eye — a circum- 
stance which seems to have kindled Burns into unreasonable rage. "If 
anything," he writes to his correspondent Smith, "had been wanting to 
disgust me completely with the Armour family, their mean, servile com- 
pliance would have done it." The proud spirit which rankled in Edin- 
burgh seems to have rankled no less bitterly in Ayrshire. A few days 
after he wrote to Mr. William Nicol, master of the High School, Edinburgh 
— then and afterwards one of his chief est friends : "I never, my friend, 
thought mankind very capable of anything generous ; but the stateliness 
of the patricians in Edinburgh, and the civility of my plebeian brethren 
(who perhaps formerly eyed me askance) since I returned home, have 
nearly put me out of conceit altogether with my species. I have bought a 
pocket Milton, which I carry perpetually about with me, in order to study 
the sentiments, the dauntless magnanimity, the intrepid, unyielding inde- 
pendence, the desperate daring, and noble defiance of hardship, in that 
great personage, Satan." At this precise period, it is somewhat hard to 
understand whence came the bitterness which wells up in almost every 
letter which Burns wrote. He was famous, he was even comparatively 
rich, but he had an eye which, constitutionally, regarded the seamy side 
of things. Probably, in no possible combination of fortunate circumstances 
could Burns have been a contented and happy man. He had Ulysses' 
"hungry heart," which could be satisfied with no shore, however green 
and pleasant, which must needs sail beyond the sunset. While residing 
at Mauchline, he accidentally met Jean, and affectionate intimacy was re- 
newed, as if no anger or bitterness had ever estranged them. 

Towards the end of June he went alone to the West Highlands, without 
any apparent motive, if not drawn by the memory of Mary Campbell. 
Of his movements in this trip we have no very precise information. At 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 21 

Inverary, where he could find accommodation neither in Castle nor Inn, he 
left an epigram which has become famous. In a letter to Mr. J. Smith, — 
a fair specimen of his more familiar epistolary style, — dated 30tli June, 
we have some slight information respecting his doings, and a description 
of certain " high jinks " in the north, in which he was an actor. Although 
the letter is dated as above, it does not state at what place it was written 
— ^Burns, perhaps, wishing to keep his secret. 

" On our return, at a Highland gentleman's hospitable mansion, we fell 
in with a merry party, and danced till the ladies left us, at three in the 
morning. Our dancing was none of the French or English insipid formal 
movements ; the ladies sung Scotch songs like angels, at intervals ; then 
we flew at 'Bab at the Bowster,' ' Tullochgorum,' 'Loch Erroch Side,' 
etc., like midges sporting in the mottle sun, or crows prognosticating a 
storm on a hairst day. When the dear lassies left us, we ranged round the 
bowl, to the good-fellow hour of six ; except a few minutes that we went 
out to pay our devotions to the glorious lamp of day peering over the 
towering top of Ben Lomond. We all kneeled ; our worthy landlord's 
son held the bowl, each man a full glass in his hand ; and I, as priest, re- 
peated some rhyming nonsense, like Thomas-a-Rhymer's prophecies, I sup- 
pose. After a small refreshment of the gifts of Somnus, we proceeded to 
spend the day on Loch Lomond and reached Dumbarton in the evening. 
We dined at another good fellow's house, and consequently pushed the 
bottle ; when we went out to mount our horses, we found ourselves ' No 
vera fou, but gaylie yet.' My two friends and I rode soberly down the 
Loch side, till by came a Highlandman at the gallop, on a tolerably good 
horse, but which had never known the ornaments of iron or leather. We 
scorned to be out-galloped by a Highlandman, so off we started, whip and 
spur. My companions though seemingly gaily mounted, fell sadly astern ; 
but my old mare Jenny Geddes, one of the Rosinante family, strained past 
the Highlandman, in spite of all his efforts with the hair halter. Just as 
I was passing him, Donald wheeled his horse, as if to cross before me, to 
mar my progress, when down came his horse, and threw his breekless rider 
in a dipt hedge ; and down came Jenny Geddes over all, and my hardship 
between her and the Highlandman's horse. Jenny Geddes trode over me 
with such cautious reverence, that matters were not so bad as might have 
been expected ; so I came off with a few cuts and bruises, and a thorough 
resolution to be a pattern of sobriety for the future. 

" I have yet fixed on nothing with respect to the serious business of life. 
I am, just as usual, a rhyming, mason-making, raking, aimless idle fellow. 
However, I shall somewhere have a farm soon." 

Whatever motive may have induced Burns to visit the West Highlands, 
he returned to Mossgiel somewhat shaken by the escapade related above. 
During the ensuing month he wrote his autobiographical sketch to Dr. 



22 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

Moore, and on the 7th August he returned to Edinburgh to settle business 
matters with his publisher, and to arrange other excursions through dis- 
tricts of the country in which he had a great interest. 

Near the close of August, Burns and Nicol started on a northern tour. 
They went by Falkirk and Stirling, visited the field of Bannockburn, and 
on their return to Stirling, Burns, with a diamond which he had recently 
purchased — the most unfortunate of all his investments, as it turned out — 
scribbled certain perilous verses on a windows-pane of the inn. They then 
struck into Perthshire, admired the Falls of Moness, where Burns wrote 
The Birks of Aberfeldy ; visited Blair, the seat of the Duke of Athole, 
where they were hospitably entertained, and where Burns met his future 
patron, Mr. Graham of Fintry, and narrowly missed meeting Mr. Dundas 
— a piece of ill-fortune which his biographers agree in lamenting. The 
travellers then proceeded to Inverness, went to Culloden, spent some time 
at the ruined cathedral of Elgin ; crossed the Spey, and visited the Duke 
of Gordon — which visit was cut short by an ebullition of wounded pride 
on the part of Nicol. From Castle Gordon they came by Banff to Aber- 
deen ; Burns then crossed into Kincardineshire — of which county his father 
was a native — and spent some time in hunting up his relations there. He 
then went to Montrose, where he met his cousin, Mr. James Burness, and 
returned to Edinburgh by Perth and Dundee. 

In the beginning of October, according to Mr, Chambers, — for there 
seems to be a little obscurity as to date, — Burns, accompanied by Dr. 
Adair, set out on a visit to Sir William Murray of Ochtertyre, and passing 
through Stirling, he broke the pane in the inn on which he had inscribed 
the treasonable lines. Unhappily, however, he could not by this means 
put them out of existence, as they had been widely copied and circulated, 
and were alive in many memories. At Ochtertyre he spent one or two 
pleasant days ; and while in the neighborhood he took the opportunity of 
visiting Mrs. Bruce of Clackmannan, who was in possession of the helmet 
and sw^ord of the Bruce, and with the latter she conferred on the poet and 
his guide the honor of knighthood, remarking as she did so, that she had 
a better right to give the title than some people. He returned to Edin- 
burgh by Kinross and Queensferry, and while at Dunfermline some cir- 
cumstances took place, trivial in themselves, but important as exhibiting 
what rapid changes took place in the weather of the poet's mind. 

"At Dunfermline," says Dr. Adair, we visited the ruined abbey and the 
abbey church, now consecrated to Presbyterian worship. Here I mounted 
the cutty stool, or stool of repentance, assuming the character of a penitent 
for fornication, while Burns from the pulpit addressed to me a ridiculous 
reproof and exhortation, parodied from that which had been delivered to 
himself in Ayrshire, where he had, as he assured me, once been one of 
seven who mounted the seat of shame together. 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 23 

" In the churchyard two broad flagstones marked the grave of Robert 
Bruce, for whose memory Burns had more than common veneration. He 
knelt and kissed the stone with sacred fervor, and heartily execrated the 
worse than Gothic neglect of the first of Scottish heroes. 

Burns was now resident in St. James's Square, in the house of William 
Cruickshank, who was, like Nicol, connected with the Edinburgh High 
School. His chief business was the arrangement of publishing matters 
with Creech, and he was anxious to come to some definite conclusion with 
Mr. Miller regarding a farm at Dalswinton. On his return from Ochter- 
tyre he wrote that gentleman in practical terms enough : "I want to be a 
farmer in a small farm, about a plough-gang, in a pleasant country, under 
the auspices of a good landlord. I have no foolish notion of being a tenant 
on easier terms than another. To find a farm where one can live at all is 
not easy. I only mean living soberly, like an old stjde farmer, and joining 
personal industry. The banks of the Nith are as sweet poetic ground as 
any I ever saw; and besides, sir, 'tis but justice to the feelings of my own 
heart, and the opinion of my best friends, to say that I would wish to call 
you landlord sooner than any landed gentleman I know. These are my views 
and wishes ; and in whatever way you think best to lay out your farms, I 
shall be happy to rent one of them. I shall certainly be able to ride to 
Dalswinton about the middle of next week." Burns, however, did not go 
to Dumfriesshire so early as he expected. There was dilatoriness on 
Creech's part regarding settlements as to the poems ; there was perhaps>dila- 
toriness on Burns's part regarding the farm : at all events, autumn had glided 
into winter, and he remained in Edinburgh without having come to a conclu- 
sion with either. The winter, however, was destined to open one of the 
strangest chapters in his strange story. At this time he made the acquaint- 
ance of Mrs. M'Lehose, the Clarinda of so many impassioned letters. This 
lady, who was possessed of no common beauty and intelligence, had been 
deserted by her husband, and was bringing up her children in somewhat 
narrow circumstances. They met at tea in the house of a common friend, 
and were pleased with each other's conversation. The second night after, 
Burns was to have drunk tea by invitation at the house of Mrs. M'Lehose, 
but having been upset the previous evening by a drunken coachman, and 
brought home with a knee severely bruised, he was obliged to forego that 
pleasure. He wrote the lady, giving the details of the accident, and ex- 
pressing regret that he was unable to leave his room. The lady, who was 
of a temperament generous and impulsive, replied at once, giving utter- 
ance to her regret, and making Burns a formal proffer of her sympathy 
and friendship. Burns was enraptured, and returned an answer after the 
following fashion : — 

' ' I stretch a point, indeed, my dearest madam, when I answer j^our card 
on the rack of my present agony. Your friendship, madam ! By heavens I 



24 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 



I was never proud before. ... I swear solemnly (in all the terror of my 
former oath) to remember you in all the pride and warmth of friendship 
until — I cease to be ! 

" To-morrow, and every day till I see you, you shall hear from me. 

•' Farewell ! May you enjoy a better night's repose than I am likely to 
have." 

The correspondence, so rapturously opened, proceeded quite as raptur- 
ously. It was arranged that in the future Burns should sign himself Syl- 
Dander, and the lady Clarinda. Each day gave birth to its epistle. Poems 
were interchanged. Sighs were wafted from St. James's Square to the 
Potterow. Clarinda was a "gloriously amiable fine woman," and Sylvan- 
der was her "devoted slave." Clarinda chid Sylvander tenderly for the 
warmth of his expressions. Sylvander was thrown into despair by the 
rebuke, but protested that he was not to blame. Who could behold her 
superior charms, her fine intelligence, and not love ? who could love and 
be silent ? Clarinda had strong Calvinistic leanings, and Sylvander, who 
could not pardon these things in Ayrshire clergymen, and was accustomed 
to call them by quite other names, was " delighted by her honest enthu- 
siasm for religion." Clarinda was to be passing on a certain day through 
the square in which Sylvander lived, and promised to favor him with a nod, 
should she be so fortunate as to see him at his window ; and wrote sorrow- 
ing, the day after, that she had been unable to discover his window. Syl- 
vander was inconsolable. Not able to discover his window! He could 
almost have thrown himself over it for very vexation. His peace is spoiled 
for the day. He is sure the soul is capable of disease, for his has convulsed- 
itself into an inflammatory fever, and so on. During this period of letter- 
writing. Burns and Mrs. M'Lehose had met several times in her own house, 
and on these occasions he had opportunities of making her aware of his 
dismal prospects. The results of his renewed intercourse with Jean on his 
return to Ayrshire were now becoming apparent ; this was communicated 
to her along with other matters, and Mrs. M'Lehose was all forgiveness-^ 
tempered with rebuke, and a desire for a more Calvinistic way of thinking 
on his part on religious subjects. That the affection of Burns for the lady 
was rooted in anything deeper than fancy, and a natural delight in intel- 
ligence and a pleasing manner, may be doubted. His Clarinda letters are 
artificial, and one suspects tlie rhetorician in the swelling sentences and the 
exaggerated sentiment. With regard to Mrs. M'Lehose there can be no 
mistake. Her letters are far superior to Burns' s, being simple, natural, and 
with a pathetic cadence in some portions which has not yet lost the power 
to affect. She loved Bums, and hoped, if he would but wait till existing 
ties were broken, to be united to him. But Burns could not wait, the cor- 
respondence drooped, and a year saw all passion 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 25 

" Die away, 
And fade into the light of common day "; 

the common day of Jean Armour, Ellisland, and the Excise. 

When Burns at this period, confined to his room by an angry limb, in 
the middle of his Clarinda correspondence, and tortured with suspicions of 
Creech's insolvency — of which some ugly rumors had reached him — was 
made aware that Jean was about to become again a mother, and that Ler 
father had thrust her from his house in anger, he was perhaps more purely 
wretched than at any other period of his life. In his own breast there was 
a passionate tumult and remorse. Look where he would, no blue spot was 
to be discovered in the entire sky of his prospects. He had felt the sweet- 
ness of applause : he was now to experience the bitterness of the after- 
taste. He was a "lion" whose season had passed. His great friends 
seemed unwilling or unable to procure him a post. He had been torn from 
his old modes of life, and in the new order of things which surrounded 
him he could find nothing permanent, nothing that would cohere. Time 
was passing; his life was purposeless; he was doing nothing, effecting 
nothing; he was flopping in the wind like an unbraced sail. At this 
juncture he resolved to bring matters to a conclusion, after one fashion or 
another. In his letters, the old scheme of emigration to the West Indies 
turns up bitterly for a moment. Then he bethought himself of a post in the 
Excise, which had always been a dream of his, and the possibility of his 
obtaining which had been discussed by his Ayrshire friends before he be- 
came famous. If such a position could be secured it would be at least some- 
thing, something in itself, something to fall back upon should his farming 
schemes prove abortive. He accordingly wrote the Earl of Glencairn, solic- 
iting his patronage, but the application appears to have been followed by 
no result. Mr. Graham, of Fintry, whose acquaintance Burns had made at 
Blair, the seat of the Duke of Athole, having heard of his wish, through 
the kind offices of Mr. Alexander Wood, the surgeon who attended him, 
immediately placed his name on the list of expectant officers. Having 
arranged his Excise business so far, he left Edinburgh to have another look 
at Mr. Miller's farms, and to come to an agreement, if possible. He took 
a friend with him on whose sagacity and business skill he could confide ; 
and after a deliberate inspection of the lands, he was better satisfied than 
he had been on a former occasion, and at once made an offer to Mr. Miller 
for the farm at Ellisland, Avhich. Avas accepted. On his return to Edin- 
burgh he announced his resolution to his friend Miss Chalmers : 

"Yesternight I completed a bargain with Mr. Miller, of Dalswinton, 
for the farm of Ellisland, on the banks of the Nith, between five and six 
miles above Dumfries. I begin at Whitsunday to build a house, drive 
lime, etc. , and Heaven be my help ! for it will take a strong effort to bring 
my mind into the routine of business. I have discharged all the army of 



26 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

my former pursuits, fancies, and pleasures — a motley host ! and have liter- 
ally and strictly retained only the ideas of a few friends, which I have 
incorporated into a life-guard." 

Burns's business at this time in Edinburgh related to his settlement with 
Creech, which, after many delays was about to take place. In all, he 
appears to have received between £400 and £500, and out of this sum he 
advanced £180 to his brother Gilbert, who was struggling manfully at 
Mossgiel. On the 24th March, with much business on hand, he left Edin- 
burgh for Ayrshire, where he married Jean Armour — snapping thereby 
the chief link which bound him to the metropolis. This union, putting 
moral considerations out of the question altogether, was the most prudent 
course open to him, and it repaired the fabric of self-respect Avhich had 
been, to some extent at least, broken down. For a time we hear nothing 
of the "wandering stabs of remorse," and his letters breathe a quite un- 
usual contentedness. He had made some little self-sacrifice, and he tasted 
the happiness which always arises from the consciousness of self-sacrifice. 
Besides, he had loved the girl, perhaps loved her all through, although 
the constant light of affection had, to himself as well as to others, been 
obscured by the glare of fiercer and more transitory fires ; and if so — the 
sacrifice not so great as he supposed it to be — he was plainly a gainer both 
ways. Burns was placed at this time in difficult circumstances, and he 
simply made the best of them. He could build only with the materials 
within reach. There was nothing left but to begin life again as a farmer, 
and it behoved him to wear russet on heart as v/ell as on limb. In the 
heyday of his Edinburgh success he foresaw the probability of his return 
to the rural shades, and to these shades he had now returned — but he re- 
turned with reputation, experience, an unreproving conscience, some little 
money in hand, and with solider prospects of happiness than had ever yet 
fallen to his lot. Happiness he did taste for a few months, — and then out 
of the future came the long shadows of disaster, fated not to pass away, 
but to gather deeper and darker over a grave which was dug too early,-- 
and yet too late. 

When Burns entered into possession of Ellisland, at Whitsunday, 1788, 
he left his wife at Mauchline till the new dwelling-house should be erected. 
In the meantime he was sufficiently busy ; he had to superintend masons 
and carpenters, as well as look after more immediate farm matters. Besides, 
in order to qualify himself for holding his Excise Commission, he had to 
give attendance at Ayr for six weeks on the duties of his new profession. 
These occupations, together with occasional visits to his wife and family, 
kept him fully occupied, Hope had sprung up in his bosom like a Jonah's 
gourd, and while the greenness lasted he was happy enough. During his 
solitary life at Ellisland, he wrote two or three of his finest songs, each 
of them in praise of Jean, and each giving evidence that his heart was at 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 2/ 

rest. During this time, too, a somewhat extensive correspondence was 
kept up, and activity and hopefulness — only occasionally dashed by 
accesses of his constitutional melancholy — radiate through it all. As was 
natural, his letters relate, for the most part, to his marriage and his new 
prospects. As respects his marriage, he takes abundant care to make 
known that, acting as he had done, he had acted prudently ; that he had 
secured an admirable wife, and that in his new relationship he was entirely 
satisfied. If any doubt should exist as to Burns's satisfaction, it can arise 
only from his somewhat too frequent protestation of it. He takes care to 
inform his correspondents that he has actually married Jean, that he would 
have been a scoundrel had he declined to marry her, and that she possessed 
the sweetest temper and the handsomest figure in the country. The truth 
is, that, in the matter of matrimony, he could not very well help himself. 
He was aware that the match w^as far from a brilliant one, and as he really 
loved his wife, he had to argue down that feeling in his own heart ; he was 
aware that his correspondents did not consider it brilliant, and he had also 
to argue down that feeling in theirs. Meanwhile, the house at Ellisland 
was getting finished. In the first week of December he brought home 
his wife, and in the pride of his heart he threw off a saucy little song, 

"I hae a wife o' my ain," 
which quivers through every syllable of it with a homely and assured de- 
light that laughs at all mischance. Mrs. Burns brought her children and a 
whole establishment of servants. The house was small, its accommodation 
was limited, and Burns sat at meals with his domestics, and on Sunday 
evenings, after the good old Scottish fashion, he duly catechised them. 
He has himself left on record that this was the happiest portion of his life. 
He had friends, with whom he maintained an intimate correspondence ; he 
had a wife who loved him ; his passionate and wayward heart was at rest 
in its own happiness ; he could see the grain yellowing in his own fields ; 
he had the Excise Commission in his pocket on which he could fall back 
if anything went wrong ; and on the red scaur above the river, he could 
stride about, giving audience to incommunicable thought, while the Nith 
was hoarse with flood, and the moon was wading through clouds over- 
head. When should he have been happy, if not now ? 

Burns's farming operations during the second year of his occupancy of 
Ellisland were not successful, and in the more unrestrained letters of the 
period we find him complaining of his hard fate in being obliged to make 
one guinea do the work of five. As the expense of his family Avas now 
rapidly increasing, he requested to be allowed to enter at once on his duties 
as officer of Excise. That in his new mode of life he would encounter un- 
pleasantnesses he knew, and was prepared for them; but he expected that 
Mrs. Burns would be able to manage the farm for the most part, — in any 
case his salary as Exciseman would be a welcome addition to his means. 



2S BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

He was appointed on application, lie entered zealously on liis duties, and 
as his district extended over ten parishes, he was forced to ride about two 
hundred miles per week. This work, taken in conjunction with labor at 
Ellisland, which, constantly getting into arrear, demanded fierce exertion 
at intervals, was too much for even his iron frame. He had attacks of 
illness, and his constitutional hypochondria ruled him with a darker sceptre 
than ever. It appears evident from his letters that he meant to make his 
fight at Ellisland, and that he considered the Excise as a second line of 
defence on which he could fall back in the event of defeat. At Ellisland 
he was defeated, and on his second line of defence he fell back grimly 
enough. An Excise officer is not a popular character in country districts 
where smugglers abound ; and whatever degree of odium might attach to 
his new profession, Burns was certain to feel more keenly than most. One 
can see that in his new relation his haughty spirit was ill at ease ; that he 
suspected a sort of meanness in himself ; and that the thought that he had 
in any way stooped or condescended was gall and wormwood. His bitter- 
ness on this matter escapes in various and characteristic ways. At one 
tiAe he treats the matter with imperial disdain, declaring that he does not 
intend "to seek honor from his profession; " at another time in a set of 
impromptu verses he mocks at his occupation and himself, illuminating 
the whole business with a flame of spleenful mirth. But the step he had 
taken was unquestionably a prudent one, and if it miscarried, it miscarried 
from foreign causes. From every account which survives, he was an ex- 
cellent and zealous officer, and into his work he carried eyes which were 
at once sharp and kindly. It was not in his nature to be harsh or tyran- 
nical. A word revealed secrets to him, a glance let him into the bearings 
of a case ; and while he saw that the interests of Government did not 
materially suffer, his good nature and kindheartedness were always at 
hand to make matters as pleasant as possible. One or two of these Excise 
anecdotes are amongst the pleasantest remembrances we have of Burns. 
His professional prospects were on the whole far from despicable. On 
his farm he was losing money, health, and hope ; but in the Excise he 
looked forward to advancement, — an Inspectorship or Supervisorship being 
regarded as within his reach. 

If Ellisland had only been profitable. Burns might have been considered 
a fortunate man. For his own wants and for those of his family the cot- 
tage which he had built sufficed. The scenery around him was beautiful. 
He was on good terms with the neighboring proprietors, and his reputa- 
tion attracted visitors from many quarters. He procured books from 
Edinburgh and from the circulating library which— with that regard for 
mental means and appliances which seems to have been a characteristic of 
his race — he had established in the vicinity. Every other day letters and 
newspapers were arriving at Ellisland, connecting him with distant places 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 29 

and events ; and the stranger who dropped in upon him from London 
or Edinburgh, or even from places more remote, brought talk, ideas, 
observations on this thing and the other more or less valuable, stimulus, 
excitement, — all tending to enrich intellectual life. And during this time 
he was no mental sluggard. He worked his brain as he worked his serv- 
ants on the acres at Ellisland, or his horse as he rode on the scent of a 
smuggler through the Nithsdale moors. He carried on a multifarious 
correspondence, he wrote his letters carefully — only a little too carefully 
sometimes, for he is occasionally modish and over-dressed. Every other 
week he sent a packet of songs to Johnson for his Museum, which had now 
reached the third volume. He interested himself in local politics, and 
scribbled electioneering ballads. One evening, when the past — heavy 
with unshed tears — lay near his heart, he composed the strain, To Mary 
in Heaven; and in the course of one summer day, in a perfect riot and 
whirlwind of ecstasy, every faculty and power in full blossom, he dashed 
off lam O'SJianter, — immortal, unapproachable! If Ellisland had but 
paid, Burns might have been happy as farmer and poet, — or as Excise- 
man, farmer and poet, — for the characters were by no means incompatible. 

As but for his Excise salary Burns nnust have succumbed under farming 
difficulties, he was now anxious to be quit of Ellisland, and to confine 
himself entirely to his official duties ; and it so happened that Mr. Miller 
was willing to release him of the portion of the lease which was yet to 
run, preparatory to a final sale of that part of the lands. The Ellisland 
crops were sold, and the sale was made the occasion of a drunken orgie. 
On the 1st September, Burns writes to Mr. Thomas Sloan : 

"Isold my crop on this day se'en-night, and sold it ver}^ well. A 
guinea an acre on an average above value. But such a scene of drunken- 
ness was hardly ever seen in this country. After the roup was over about 
thirty people engaged in a battle, every man for his own hand, and fought 
it out for three hours. Nor was the scene much better in the house. No 
fighting indeed, but the folks lying drunk on the floor, and decanting, 
until both my dogs got so drunk by attending on them that they could not 
stand. You will easily guess how I enjoyed the scene, as I was no farther 
over than you used to see me." 

In November Ellisland became the property of Mr. Morine, and Burns 
immediately sold his farm stock and implements, — relinquishing forever 
the plough-tail, at which he so often boasted that he had an independ- 
ence, — and removed with his wife and children to a small house in the 
Wee Vennel of Dumfries. On his removal he was appointed to an Excise 
division, which improved his salary. His income was now £70 per 
annum. 

It is at Dumfries that Burns's story first becomes really tragical. He 
had divorced himself from country scenery and the on-goings of rural life, 



30 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

which, up till now, formed an appropriate background for our ideas of 
him. Instead of the knowes and meadows of Mossgiel and Ellisland, with 
their lovely sunrises and twilights, we have to connect him with the 
streets, the gossip, and the dissipation of a third-rate Scottish town. He 
was no longer a farmer — he was a simple gauger, hoping to obtain a super- 
visorship. Proud as was his spirit, he was dependent on great friends ; 
and he condescended, on various occasions, to write epistles in prose and 
verse which fawned on a patron's hand. Natural inspiration and pictur- 
esqueness were taken out of his life. He turned down no more daisies, 
the horned moon hung no longer in the window-pane of the ale-house in 
which he drank; the composition of theatrical prologues engaged his 
attention rather than the composition of poems of rustic life. He was 
never rich, but in Dumfries his poverty for the first time wears an aspect 
of painfulness. For the first time we hear of monetary difiiculties, of 
obligations which he cannot conveniently meet, of debt. It was here, too, 
that certain weaknesses, which had lately grown upon him, attracted 
public notice. In Dumfries, as in Edinburgh at that time, there was a 
good deal of tavern-life, and much hard drinking at dinner and supper 
parties, and the like. Burns was famous, — he had lived in dukes' houses, 
he corresponded with celebrated men, he could talk brilliantly, he had wit 
for every call as other men had spare silver he could repeat his last poem 
or epigram, — and as a consequence his society was in great request. It 
was something to have dined or supped in the company of Burns, — if one 
was not the rose, it was at least something to have been near the rose, — and 
his host was proud of him, as he was proud of his haunch of venison, his 
claret, his silver epergne. Burns's good things circulated with the wine ; 
his wit gave a new relish to the fruit, and kindled an unwonted splendor 
in the brains of his listeners. The strangers, passing through Dumfries, 
were naturally anxious to see the poet whose reputation had travelled so 
far. They invited him to the inns in which they were living, Burns con- 
sented, frequently the revel was loud and late, and when he rose, — after 
the sun sometimes, — he paid his share of the lawing with "a slice of his 
constitution. " In his younger days he had been subjected to public rebuke 
by the Rev. Mr. Auld ; but since his marriage he seems to have been ir- 
reproachable in the matter of conjugal fidelity. During, however, an un- 
fortunate absence of his wife in Ayrshire he contracted a discreditable 
liaison, which resulted in the birth of a daughter. Mrs. Burns seems 
neither to have reproached nor complained ; she adopted the child, and 
brought it up in the same cradle with her own infant. If for his fault he 
had been subjected to domestic annoyance, he might have taken refuge in 
pride, and haughtily repelled reproaches ; but his wife's forgiveness allowed 
him to brood — and with what bitterness we can guess — over his miscon- 
duct. Doubtless the evil in his career in Dumfries has been exaggerated. 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 3 1 

Burns's position was full of peril, — he was subjected to temptations which 
did not come in the way of ordinary men ; and if he drank hard, it was 
in an age when hard drinking was fashionable. If he sinned in this respect, 
he sinned in company with English prime ministers, Scotch Lords of Session, 
grave dignitaries of the Church in both countries, and with thousands of 
ordinary blockheads who went to their graves in the odor of sanctity, and 
whose epitaphs are a catalogue of all the virtues. Burns was a man set 
apart ; he was observed, he was talked about ; and if he erred, it was like 
erring in the market-place. In any other inhabitant of Dumfries, mis- 
demeanors such as Burns's would hardly have provoked remark; what 
would have been unnoticed on the hodden gray of the farmer became a 
stain on the singing robe of the poet. That Burns should have led an un- 
worthy life is to be deplored, but the truth is — and herein lies explanation, 
palliation perhaps — that in Dumfries he was somewhat a-weary of the sun. 
Not seldom he was desperate and at bay. He was neither in harmony with 
himself nor with the world. He had enjoyed one burst of brilliant success, 
and in the light of that success his life before and after looked darker than 
it actually was. The hope deferred of a supervisorship made his heart 
sick. He had succeeded as a poet, but in everything else failure had 
dogged his steps ; and out of that poetical success no permanent benefit 
had resulted, or seemed now in his need likely to result. In the east were 
the colors of the dawn, but the sun would not arise. His letters at this 
time breathe an almost uniform mood of exasperation and misery, and it is 
hard for a miserable man to be a good one. He is tempted to make strange 
alliances, and to pay a high price for forgetfulness. And over Burns's 
head at this time was suspended one other black cloud, which, although 
it only burst in part, made the remainder of his life darker with its shadow. 
Chief amongst Burns's friends during the early portion of his residence 
at Dumfries were Mr. and Mrs. Riddel. They were in good circumstances, 
possessing a small estate in the neighborhood of the town, and Burns was 
frequently their guest. Mrs. Riddel was young and pretty, and distin- 
guished by literary taste and accomplishment. She wrote verses which 
Burns praised, and he introduced her to his friend Smellie, the naturalist, 
who was enchanted with her vivacity and talent. But this pleasant re- 
lationship was destined to be interrupted. On the occasion of a dinner- 
party at Woodley Park, the residence of Mr. Riddel, when wine flowed 
much too freely. Burns — in some not quite explained manner — grievously 
offended his hostess. On the following morning he apologized in prose 
and verse, threw the onus of his rudeness on Mr. Riddel's wine, — which was 
the next thing to blaming Mr. Riddel himself, — and in every way expressed 
regret for his conduct, and abhorrence of himself. These apologies do not 
seem to have been accepted, and for a time the friends ceased to meet. 
Burns was hurt and angry, and he made the lady he was accustomed to 



32 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

address in adoring verses and high-flown epistles the subject of cruel and 
unmanly lampoons. The estrangement was, of course, noised abroad, 
and the people were inclined to side with the fashionable lady rather than 
with the Jacobinical exciseman. For a time at least, Dumfries regarded 
Burns with a lowering and suspicious eye, one reason of which may be 
found in his quarrel with the Riddels and its cause, and another in the 
political principles which he professed to hold, and to which he gave im- 
prudent expression. 

His immediate ancestors had perilled something in the cause of the 
Stuarts, and Burns, in his early days, was wont to wear a sentimental 
Jacobitism, — for ornament's sake, like a ring on the finger, or a sprig of 
heather in the bonnet. This Jacobitism was fed by his sentiment and his 
poetry. It grew out of the House of Stuart, as flowers grow out of the 
walls of ruins. But while he held tlie past in reverence, and respected aris- 
tocracy as an outcome of that past, a something around which tradition 
and ballad could gather, there was always a fierce democratic impulse in 
his mind, which raged at times like the ocean tide against the Bullers of 
Buchan. This democratic feeling, like his other feeling of Jacobitism, 
rested on no solid foundation. He had a strong feeling that genius and 
worth are always poor, that baseness and chicanery are always prosperous. 
He considered that the good things of this life were secured by the rascals 
more or less. The truth is, his Jacobitism sprang from his imagination, 
his Radicalism from his discontent ; the one the offspring of the best por- 
tion of his nature, the other the offspring of the worst. Radicalism was 
originally born of hunger ; and Burns, while denouncing the rules of his 
country, was simply crying out unde his own proper sore. He passionately 
carried particulars into generals. He was sick, and so was the whole body 
politic. He needed reform, so, of course, did the whole world, and it was 
more agreeable to begin with the world in the first instance. He was im- 
prudent in the expression of his political opinions, and was continually 
doing himself injury thereby. He had written, as we have seen, treason- 
able verses on the inn window at Stirling; and although on a subsequent 
visit he dashed out the pane, he could not by that means destroy the 
copies which were in circulation. The writing of the verses referred to 
was imprudent enough, but the expression of his Radicalism at Dumfries 
— which was a transient mood, not a fixed principle with him — was more 
imprudent still. In the one case he was a private individual, anxious to 
enter the Excise ; in the other, he had entered the Excise, was actually a 
Government officer, and in receipt of a Government salary. Besides, too, 
the times were troublous: there was seditious feeling in the country, 
France had become a volcano in active eruption, and European business 
was carried on in its portentous light. It became known that Burns 
looked with favor on the revolutionary party across the Channel, that he 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 33 

read newspapers wMch were opposed to the Government, and, as a conse- 
quence, by the well-to-do inhabitants of Dumfries he was regarded with 
suspicion. This suspicion was, of course, wretched enough, but Burns 
need not have gone out of his way to incur it. He knew perfectly well 
that his Radicalism was based on no serious conviction, that it grew out 
of personal discontent, and that the discontent was the result of wounded 
pride, and the consciousness that he had not shaped his life aright. 
Besides all this, he seems to have lost self-command ; he was constantly 
getting into scrapes from which there could be no honorable extrication. 
He burned his fingers, and he did not dread the fire. To the Subscription 
Library in Dumfries he presented, amongst other volumes, a copy of Be 
Lolme on the British . Constitution, and inscribed on the back of the por- 
trait of the author, "Mr. Burns presents this book to the Library, and 
begs they will take it as a creed of British liberty — until they find a 
better. R. B." And the next morning he came to the bedside of the gen- 
tleman who had the volume in custody, imploring to see Be Lolme, as he 
feared he had written something in it that might bring him into trouble. 
We hear of him at a private dinner-party, when the health of Pitt was 
proposed, giving "The health of George Washington — a better man," 
and of his being sulky that his toast was not received. He had already 
sent a present of guns to the French Convention, with which our pros- 
pect of war was at this time becoming imminent ; and at a later period 
we find him quarrelling with an officer on the subject of another toast, 
and writing apologies to the effect, firstly, that when the offence was com- 
mitted he was drunk; and secondly, that he could not fight a duel, 
because he had the welfare of others to care for. When the board of 
Excise ordered some inquiries to be made regarding his political conduct, 
he wrote Mr. Graham of Fintry, declaring that " To the British Constitu- 
tion, on revolution principles, next after my God, I am most devoutly 
attached." He was in a state of chronic exasperation at himself, at the 
rich people of his acquaintance and of his immediate neighborhood, and 
at the world generally ; and his exasperation was continually blazing out 
in sarcasm and invective. Curiously enough, too, when one thinks of it, 
during all this bitter time, he was writing songs for Mr. Thomson, who 
had opened a correspondence with him. He was busy with Chloris and 
Phillis, while thrones were shaking, and the son of Saint Louis knelt on 
the scaffold, and Marie Antoinette during her trial was beating out with 
weary fingers a piano tune on the bench before her. Every other week 
up from Dumfries to Edinburgh came by the fly a packet of songs for the 
new publication. On one occasion came the stern war-ode, Scots irlta hae 
wi' Wallace bled, which Mr. Thomson thought susceptible of improvement. 
But Burns was inexorable ; he liked his ode, and as it was it should 
remain. It has been said, that by the more respectable circles in Dum- 
3 



34 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

fries Burns was regarded with suspicion, if not with positive dislike. 
Some evidence of this will be found in the anecdote related by Mr. Lock- 
hart. " Mr. M'Culloch," we are informed by that biographer, "was sel- 
dom more grieved than when, riding into Dumfries one fine summer 
evening to attend a county ball, he saw Burns walking alone on the 
shady side of the principal street of the town, while the opposite side was 
gay with successive groups of ladies and gentlemen, all drawn together 
for the festivities of the night, not one of whom appeared willing to 
recognize him. The horseman dismounted and joined Burns, who on his 
proposing to him to cross the street, said, * Nay, nay, my young friend, 
that's all over now'; and quoted after a pause, some verses of Lady 
Grizel Baillie's pathetic ballad : 

* His bonnet stood ance f u' fair on his brow, 
His auld ane looked better than mony ane's new ; 
But now he let's wear ony gate it will hing, 
And casts himsel' dowie upon the corn-bing. 

' Oh, were we young as we ance hae been, 
We sud hae been galloping down on yon green, 
And linking it ower the lily-white lea— 
And werena my heart light I wad die.' 

Burns then turned the converation, and took his young friend home with 
him till the time for the ball arrived." 

This — with the exception of the actual close — was the darkest period in 
Burns's life. In a short time the horizon cleared a little. The quarrel 
with Mrs. Riddel was healed, and in a short time books and poems were 
exchanged between them as of yore. He appears also to have had again 
some hope of obtaining a supervisorship — the mirage that haunted his clos- 
ing years. Meanwhile, political feeling had become less bitter ; and in 
1795, he exhibited his friendliness to the institutions of the country by 
entering himself one of the corps of volunteers which was raised in Dum- 
fries, and by composing the spirited patriotic song. Does haughty Oaul 
invasion threat f This song became at once popular; and it showed the 
nation that the heart of the writer was sound at the core, that he hated 
anarchy and tyranny alike, and wished to steer a prudent middle course. 
Better days were dawning ; but by this time the hardships of his youth, 
his constant anxieties, his hoping against hope, and his continual passion- 
ate stress and tumult of soul, began to tell on a frame that was originally 
powerful. In a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, in the beginning of the year, we 
have, under his own hand, the first warning of failing strength. " What 
a transient business is life," he writes. "Very lately I was a boy ; but 
t'other day I was a young man ; and I already begin to feel the rigid fibre 
and stiffening joints of old age coming fast over my frame." In spite of 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 35 

breaking health, he attended his Excise duties, and the packets of songs 
were sent regularly from Dumfries to Edinburgh. In the songs there was 
no symptom of ache or pain ; in these his natural vigor was in no wise 
abated. The dew still hung, diamond-like, upon the thorn. Love was 
still lord of all. On one occasion he went to a party at the Globe Tavern, 
where he waited late, and on his way home, heavy with liquor, he fell 
asleep in the open air. The result, in his weakened state of body, was 
disastrous. He was attacked by rheumatic fever, his appetite began to 
fail, his black eyes lost their lustre, his voice became tremulous and hol- 
low. His friends hoped that, if he could endure the cold spring months, 
the summer warmth would revive him ; but summer came, and brought 
no recovery. He was now laid aside from his official work. During his 
illness he was attended by Miss Jessie Lewars, a sister of his friend Lew- 
ars, — "a fellow of uncommon merit; indeed, by far the cleverest fellow 
I have met in this part of the world," — and her kindness the dying poet 
repaid by the only thing he was rich enough to give — a song of immortal 
sweetness. His letters at this time are full of his disease, his gloomy pros- 
pects, his straitened circumstances. In July he went to Brow, a sea- 
bathing village on the Solway, where Mrs. Riddel was then residing, in 
weak health, and there the friends — for all past bitternesses were now for- 
gotten — had an interview. "Well, Madam, have you any commands for 
the other world ? " was Burns's greeting. He talked of his approaching 
decease calmly, like one who had grown so familiar with the idea that it 
had lost all its terror. His residence on the Solway was not productive of 
benefit : he was beyond all aid from sunshine and the saline breeze. On 
the 7th July, he wrote to Mr. Cunningham, urging him to use his influ- 
ence with the Commissioners of Excise to grant him his full salary. " If 
they do not grant it me," he concludes, "I must lay my account with an 
exit truly en poete ; if I die not of disease, I must perish with hunger." 
On the 10th July, he wrote his brother Gilbert; and Mrs. Dunlop, who 
had become unaccountably silent, two days after. On this same 12th July, 
he addressed the following letter to his cousin : — 

"My dear Cousin, — When you offered me money assistance, little did 
I think I should want it so soon. A rascal of a haberdasher, to whom I 
owe a considerable bill, taking it into his head that I am dying, has com- 
menced a process against me, and will infallibly put my emaciated body 
into jail. Will you be so good as to accommodate me, and that by return 
of post, with ten pounds ? Oh, James ! did you know the pride of my 
heart, you would feel doubly for me ! Alas ! I am not used to beg. The 
worst of it is, my health was coming about finely. You know, and my 
physician assured me that melanclioly and low spirits are half my disease 
—guess, then, my horror since this business began. If I had it settled, I 



36 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 



would be, I think, quite well, in a manner. How shall I use the language 
to you ?— oh, do not disappoint me ! but strong necessity's curst command. 

" Forgive me for once more mentioning by return of post — save me from 
the horrors of a jail. 

"My compliments to my friend James, and to all the rest. I do not 

know what I have written. The subject is so horrible I dare not look over 

it again. Farewell. 

^ "KB." 

On the same day he addressed Mr. Thomson :— 

••After all my boasted independence, curst necessity compels me to im- 
plore you for five pounds. A cruel scoundrel of a haberdasher, to whom 
I owe an account, taking it into his head that I am dying, has commenced 
a process, and will infallibly put me in jail. Do, for God's sake, send me 
that sum, and that by return of post. Forgive me this earnestness ; but 
the horrors of a jail have made me half distracted. I do not ask all this 
gratuitously ; for, upon returning health, I hereby promise and engage to 
furnish you with five pounds' worth of the neatest song-genius you have 
seen. I tried my hand on Rothemurclde this morning. The measure is so 
difficult, that it is impossible to infuse much genius into the lines ; they 
are on the other side. Forgive, forgive me ! " 

This was Burns's last working day. He wrote his song in the morning. 
Fairest Maid on Devon Banks, and the two letters afterwards — to both of 
which answers were promptly returned. He soon after left the Solway 
and returned to Dumfries, where his wife was daily expected to be con- 
fined. He came home in a small spring cart, and when he alighted he was 
unable to stand. The hand of death was visibly upon him. His children 
were sent to the house of Mr. Lewars : Jessie was sedulous in her atten- 
tions. On the 21st, he sank into delirium ; his children were brought to 
see him for the last time ; and with an execration on the legal agent who 
had threatened him, the troubled spirit passed. Those who came to see 
him as he lay in his last sleep were touched and affected. Mighty is the 
hallowing of death to all, — to him more than to most. As he lay stretched, 
his dark locks already streaked with unnatural gray, all unworthiness fell 
away from him — every stain of passion and debauch, every ignoble word, 
every ebullition of scorn and pride — and left pure nobleness. Farmer no 
longer, exciseman no longer, subject no longer to criticism, to misrepre- 
sentation, to the malevolence of mean natures and evil tongues, he lay there 
the great poet of his country, dead too early for himself and for it. He 
had passed from the judgments of Dumfries, and made his appeal to Time. 

Of Burns, the man and poet, what is there left to be said V During his 
lifetime he was regarded as a phenomenon ; and now, when he has been 
seventy years in his grave he is a phenomenon still. He came up from 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 37 

Ayrshire with all the sense and shrewdness of its peasantry, the passion of 
its lovers, the piety of its circles of family worship, the wild mirth of its 
kirns and Halloweens. Of all the great men of the North Country, his 
was incomparably the fullest soul. What fun he had, what melancholy, 
what pity, what anger, what passion, what homely sagacity, what sensi- 
tiveness ! Of everything he was brimful and overflowing. It is difficult 
to carry a full cup and not to spill it. He had his errors, but they arose 
out of his splendid and perilous richness. As a man he was full of natural 
goodness, but he was unreticent even among poets. We know the best 
and the worst of him ; and he has himself frankly told us that best and 
that worst. He had to fight with adverse circumstances, he died before 
he had run his race, and his fame — greater than that of any other poet of 
his country — rests upon poems written swiftly, as men write their letters, 
and on songs which came to him naturally as its carol comes to the black- 
bird. 

Of all poets Burns was, perhaps, the most directly inspired. His poems 
did not grow — like stalactites — by the slow process of accretion; like 
Adam, they had no childhood — they awoke complete. Burns produced 
all his great effects by single strokes. In his best things there is an im- 
petus, a hurry, which gives one the idea of boundless resource. To him 
a song was the occupation of a morning ; his poetic epistles drive along in 
a fiery sleet of words and images: his Tarn 0' 8hanter was written in a 
day — since Bruce fought Bannockburn, the best single day's work done in 
Scotland. Burns was never taken by surprise ; he was ready for all calls 
and emergencies. He had not only — like Addison — a thousand-pound note 
at home, but he had — to carry out the image — plenty of loose intellectual 
coin in his pocket. A richer man — with plenty of money in his purse, and 
able to get the money out of his purse when swift occasion required — Na- 
ture has seldom sent into the world. 

Born and bred as he was in the country, we find in Burns the finest pic- 
tures of rural life. We smell continually the newly -turned earth, the haw- 
thorn blossoms, the breath of kine. His shepherds and shepherdesses are 
not those who pipe and make love in Arcady and on Sevres china — they 
actually work, receive wages, attend markets, hear sermons, go sweet- 
hearting, and, at times, before the congregation endure rebuke. The world 
he depicts is a real world, and the men and women are also real. Burns 
had to sweat in the eye of Phoebus, and about all he writes there is an out- 
of-doors feeling. Although conversant with sunrises and sunsets, the pro- 
cesses of vegetation, and all the shows and forms of nature, he seldom or 
never describes these things for their own sake ; they are alwaj'S kept in 
subordination to the central human interest. Burns cared little for the 
natural picturesque in itself; the moral picturesque touched him more 
nearly. An old soldier in tattered scarlet interested him more than an old 



38 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 

ruin ; he preferred a gnarled character to a gnarled tree. The ridges of 
Arran haunt Ayrshire, — Burns must daily have seen them from his door 
at Mossgiel, — and yet, to this most striking object in his range of vision, 
there is not a single allusion in his letters and poems. If Wordsworth had 
been placed in the same environment, how he would have made his suns 
rise or set on Arran ! After all, it is usually the town-poets — men like 
Hunt and Keats — who go philandering after nature, who are enraptured 
by the graceful curvature of ferns and the colors of mosses and lichens. 
Burns had an exquisite delight in nature, especially in her more somber 
and gloomy aspects ; but he took a deeper interest in man, and, as a con- 
sequence, the chief interest of his poems is of a moral kind. We value 
them not so much for their color, their harmony, their curious felicities of 
expression, as for the gleams of sagacity, the insight into character, the 
strong homely sense, and those wonderful short sentences scattered every 
where. Of those short lines and sentences, now sly, now caustic, now 
broadly humorous, now purely didactic, no writings, if Shakespeare's be 
excepted, have a greater abundance. They circulate every wiiere like cur- 
rent coin ; they have passed like iron into the blood of our common speech. 
Of Burns's conversation in Edinburgh we have little recorded that is es- 
pecially characteristic — and for this we blame not Burns, but his reporters. 
The best thing — indeed, the only true and deep thing — is the simple state- 
ment which struck Dugald Stewart so much when the pair were standing 
on the Braid hills, looking out on the fair morning world. Beneath were 
cottages, early sparrows doubtless noisy in the thatch, pillars of blue 
smoke, telling of preparation of breakfast for laborers afield, curling in the 
calm air. Burns took in the whole landscape, and declared that, in his 
view, the worthiest object it contained was the cluster of smoking cots, 
knowing as he did, what worth, what affection, what pious contentment 
and happiness, nestled within them. This really is a gleam into the man's 
inmost soul. Poetry, to him, lay in the cottage rather than in the tree 
that overshadowed it, or the stream that sparkled past it. In one of his 
poems he lays down the doctrine in express terms : — 

" To make a happy fireside clime 

To weans and wife, 
That's the true pathos and sublime 
Of human life." 

The poetry of a man so intensely humane is certain to come home to the 
bosoms and businesses of all other men — powerfully to the happy, more 
powerfully to the miserable, who are ever in the majority. To the 
wretched out of the Bible, there is no such solace as the poetry of Burns. 
His genius comes to their hovels, their poor bread j?vetted with tears, as 
Howard came to the strong places of pestilence — irradiating, consoling ; 



BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 39 

like the hearing of soft tones, like the touches of tender hands. And then 
his large friendliness flows out in every direction. The " mouse" is his 
"poor earth-born companion and fellow-mortal." He pities the "silly 
sheep," and the " chitteriug wing" of the bird perched on the frozen spray. 
The farmer speaks to his old mare "Maggie" as he would to a comrade, 
who had shared with him his struggles, toils, and triumphs. The poetry 
of Burns flows into a wintry world, like a tepid gulf-stream — mitigating 
harsh climates, breathing genial days, carrying with it spring-time and the 
cuckoo's note. 

Of his humor again — which is merely his love laughing and playing 
antics in very extravagance of its joy — what can be said, except that it is 
the freshest, most original, most delightful in the world ? What a riot of 
fun in lam O'Shanter ; what strange co-mixture of mirth andawfulness in 
Death and Dr. Hornbook ; what extravaganza in the Address to a Haggis! 
To Burns's eye the world was dark enough, usually ; but, on the gala days 
and carnivals of his spirit. Mirth rules the hour, ragged Poverty dances 
all the lighter for his empty pockets, Death himself grins as he is poked 
in the lean ribs. And if, as is said, from the sweetest wine you can ex- 
tract the sourest vinegar, one can fancy into what deadly satire this love 
will conceal itself, when it becomes hate. Burns hates his foe — be it man 
or doctrine — as intensely as he loves his mistress. Holy Willie's Prayer is a 
satirical crucifixion— slow, lingering, inexorable. He hated Hypocrisy, he 
tore its holy robe, and for the outrage Hypocrisy did not forgive him 
while he lived, nor has it yet learned to forgive him. 

If we applaud the Roman Emperor who found Rome brick and left it 
marble, what shall we say of the man who found the songs of his country 
indelicate and left them pure — who made wholesome the air wiiicli the 
spirit and the affections breathe ? And Burns did this. He drove im- 
modesty from love, and coarseness from humor. And not only did he 
purify existing Scottish Song ; he added to it all that it has of best and 
rarest. Since his day, no countryman of his, whatever may be his mood, 
need be visited by a sense of solitariness, or ache with a pent-up feeling. 
If he is glad, he will find a song as merry as himself ; if sad, he will find 
one that will sigh with his own woe. In Burns's Songs, love finds an ex- 
quisite companionship ; independence a backer and second ; conviviality, 
a roaring table, and the best fellows round it ; patriotism, a deeper love of 
country, and a gayer scorn of death than even its own. And in so adding 
to, and purifying Scottish Song, Burns has conferred the greatest benefit 
on his countrymen that it is in the power of a poet to confer. 



CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE 
OP 

BURNS'S LIFE AND WORKS. 



ALLOWAY. 

1759. 

January 25. — Robert Burns born at Alloway, parish of Ayr, in a clay- 
built cottage, the work of his father's own hands. His father, William 
Burnes (so the family name was always written until changed by the poet), 
was a native of Kincardineshire, born November 11, 1721. His mother, 
Agnes Brown, born March 17, 1732, was daughter of a farmer in Carrick, 
Ayrshire. The poet's parents were married December 15, 1757. William 
Burnes was then a gardener and farm-overseer. 

1765— (iETAT. Six). 

Sent to a school at Alloway Mill, kept by one Campbell, who was suc- 
ceeded in May by John Murdoch, a young teacher of uncommon merit, 
engaged by William Burnes and four of his neighbors, who boarded him 
alternately at their houses, and guaranteed him a small salary. Two 
advantages were thus possessed by the poet — an excellent father and an 
excellent teacher. 

MOUNT OLIPHANT. 

1766— (Seven). 

William Burnes removed to the farm of Mount Oliphant, two miles dis- 
tant. His sons still attended Alloway school. The books used were a 
spelling-hook, the New Testament, the Bible, Mason's Collection of Prose and 
Verse, and Fisher's English Grammar. 

1768— (Nine). 

Murdoch gave up Alloway school. Visiting the Burnes family before 
his departure, lie took with him, as a present, the play of Tit us Andronicus. 
He read part of the play aloud, but the horrors of the scene shocked and 

41 



42 CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 

distressed the children, and Robert threatened to burn the book if it was 
left. Instead of it, Murdoch gave them a comedy, the Scliool for Love 
(translated from the French) and an English Grammar. He had previously 
lent Robert a Life of Hannibal. ' ' The earliest composition that I recollect 
taking any pleasure in," says the poet, "was the Vision of Mirza, and a, 
hymn of Addison's beginning. How are Thy servants blest, Lord! I 
particularly remember one half-stanza, which was music to my boyish 

ears, — 

' For though in dreadful whirls we hung 
High on the broken wave 1 '" 

He had found these in Mason's Collection. The latent seeds of poetry 
were further cultivated in his mind by an old woman living in the family, 
Betty Davidson, who had a great store of tales, songs, ghost-stories, and 
legendary lore. 

1770— (Eleven). 

By the time he was ten or eleven years of age he was an excellent En- 
glish scholar, "a critic in substantives, verbs, and particles." After the 
departure of Murdoch, William Burnes was the only instructor of his 
sons and other children. He taught them arithmetic, and procured for 
their use Salmon's Geographical Grammar, Berham's Physics and Astro- 
Theology, and Bay's Wisdom of God in the Creation. These gave the 
boys some idea of Geography, Astronomy, and Natural History, He 
had also Stackhouse's History of the Bible, Taylor's Scripture Doctrine of 
Original Sin, a volume of English History (reigns of James I. and 
Charles I.). The blacksmith lent the common mcir'n:?i\ Life of Sir William 
Wallace, (which was read with Scottish fervor and enthusiasm), and a 
maternal uncle supplied a Collection of Letters, by the wits of Queen Anne's 
reign, which inspired Robert with a strong desire to excel in letter- writing. 

1 7 7 2— (Thibteen). 

To improve their penmanship, William Burnes sent his sons, week about, 
during the summer quarter, to the parish school of Dalrymple, two or 
three miles distant. This year Murdoch was appointed teacher of English 
in Ayr school, and he renewed his acquaintance with the Burnes family, 
sending them Pope's Works and " some other poetry." 

1773 --(Fouiiteen). 

Robert boarded three weeks with Murdoch at Ayr in order to revise his 
English Grammar. He acquired also a smattering of French, and on re- 
turning home he took with him a French Dictionary and French Grammar, 
and a copy of Telemaque. He attempted Latin, but soon abandoned it. 



CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 43 

1774— (Fifteen.) 

His knowledge of French introduced him to some respectable families in 
Ayr (Dr. Malcolm's and others). A lady lent him the Spectator, Pope's 
Homer, and several other books. In this year began with him love and 
poetry. His partner in the harvest-field was a " bewitching creature " a 
year younger than himself. Nelly Kilpatrick, daughter of the blacksmith, 
who sang sweetly, and on her he afterwards wrote his first song and first 
effort at rhyme, 0, once I loved a honnie lass. 

1775— (Sixteen). 

About this time Robert was the principal laborer on the farm. From 
the unproductiveness of the soil, the loss of cattle, and other causes, Wil- 
liam Burnes had got into pecuniary difficulties, and the threatening let- 
ters of the factor (the landlord being dead) used to set the distressed family 
all in tears. The character of the factor is drawn in the Tale of Tica 
Dogs. The hard labor, poor living, and sorrow of this period formed the 
chief cause of the poet's subsequent fits of melancholy, frequent head- 
aches, and palpitation of the heart. 

177 6— (Seventeen). 

Spent his seventeenth summer (so in poet's MS. British Museum ; Dr. 
Currie altered the date to nineteenth) on a smuggling coast in Ayrshire, at 
Kirkoswald, on purpose to learn mensuration, surveying, etc. He made 
good progress, though mixing somewhat in the dissipation of the place, 
which had then a flourishing contraband trade. Met the second of his 
poetical heroines, Peggy Thomson, on whom he afterwards wrote his fine 
song. Now icestUn winds and slaughfring guns. The charms of this maiden 
" overset his trigonometry and set him off at a tangent from the sphere of 
his studies." On his return from Kirkoswald ("in my seventeenth year," 
he writes) he attended a dancing school to "give his manners a brush." 
His father had an antipathy to these meetings, and his going "in absolute 
defiance of his father's command " ( sic in orig.) was an "instance of rebel- 
lion " which he conceived brought on him the paternal resentment and 
even dislike. Gilbert Burns dissents altogether from this conclusion : the 
poet's extreme sensibility and regret for his one act of disobedience led him 
unconsciously to exaggerate the circumstances of the case. At Kirkos- 
wald he had enlarged his reading by the addition of TJiomson's and S/ien- 
stone's Woi'ks, and among tlie other books to which he had access at this 
period, besides those mentioned above, were some plays of Shakespeare, 
Allan Ramsay's Works, Kerrey's Meditations, and a Select Collection of Eng- 
lish Songs ("The Lark," 2 vols.). This last work was, he says, his rade 
mecum ; he pored over it driving his cart or walking to labor, and care- 



44 CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 

fully noted the true, tender, or sublime from affectation and fustian. He 
composed this year two stanzas, / dream'd I lay where flowers were spring 
ing. 

LOCHLEA. 
1 7 7 7— (Eighteen). 
William Burnes and family remove to a larger farm at Lochlea, parish 
of Tarbolton. Take possession at Whitsunday, Affairs for a time look 
brighter, and all work diligently. Robert and Gilbert have £7 per annum 
each as wages from their father, and they also take land from him for the 
purpose of raising flax on their own account. "Though, when young, 
the poet was bashful and awkward in his intercourse with women, as he 
approached manhood his attachment to their society became very strong, 
and he was constantly the victim of some fair enslaver." {Gilbert Burns.) 
He was in the secret, he says, of half the loves of the parish of Tarbolton. 

177 8— (Nineteen). 

"I was," he says, "about eighteen or nineteen when I sketched the out- 
lines of a tragedy." The whole had escaped his memory, except a frag- 
ment of twenty lines : All devil as I am, etc. 

1 7 80 — (Twenty-one). 

The " Bachelors' Club," established at Tarbolton by Robert and Gilbert 
Burns, and five other young men. Meetings were held once a month, 
and questions debated. The sum expended by each member was not to 
exceed threepence. 

1781 — (Twenty-two). 

David Sillar admitted a member of the Bachelors' Club. He describes 
Burns: "I recollect hearing his neighbors observe he had a great deal to 
say for himself, and that they suspected his principles (his religious prin- 
ciples). He wore the only tied hair in the parish, and in the church his 
plaid, which was of a particular color, I think fillemot, he wrapped in a 
particular manner round his shoulders. Between sermons we often took 
a walk in the fields ; in these walks I have frequently been struck by his 
facility in addressing the fair sex, and it was generally a death-blow to our 
conversation, however agreeable, to meet a female acquaintance. Some 
book he always carried and read when not otherwise employed. It was 
likewise his custom to read at table. In one of my visits to Lochlea, in 
the time of a sowen supper, he was so intent on reading, — I think Tris- 
tram Shandy, — that his spoon falling out of his hand made him exclaim, in 
a tone scarcely imitable, * Alas, poor Yorick ! ' " The poet had now added 
to his collection of books Mackenzie's Man of Feeling (which he said he 



CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 45 

prized next to the Bible) and Man of the World, Sterne's Works, and Mae- 
pherson's Ossian. He would appear also to have had the poetical works 
of Young. Among the fair ones wiiose society he courted was a superior 
young woman, bearing the unpoetical name of Ellison Begbie. She was 
the daughter of a small farmer at Galston, but was servant with a family 
I on the banks of the Cessnock. On her he wrote a " song of similes," be- 
ginning On Cessnock banks there lives a lass, and the earliest of his printed 
correspondence is addressed to Ellison. His letters are grave, sensible 
epistles, written with remarkable purity and correctness of language. At 
this time poesy was, he says, "a darling walk for his mind." The oldest 
of his printed pieces were Winter, a Dirge, the Death of Poor Mailie, John 
Barleycorn, and the three songs It was vpon a Lammas night, JSow westlin 
winds and slaughfring guns, and Behind yon hills ichere Stincliar floios. We 
may add to these Tibbie Ihae seen the day and My father icas a farmer. 
His exquisite lyric, Mary, at thy icindoio be, was also, he says, one of 
his juvenile w^orks. 

' 1782— (Twenty-three). 

Ellison Begbie refuses his hand. She was about to leave her situation, 
and he expected himself to " remove a little further off," He went to the 
town of Irvine, " My twenty-third year," he says, "was tome an im- 
portant era. Partly through whim, and partly that I wished to set about 
doing something in life, I joined a flax-dresser in a neighboring town to 
learn his trade, and carrj^ on the business of manufacturing and retailing 
flax. This turned out a sadly unlucky affair. My partner was a scoundrel 
; of the first water, who made money by the mystery of thieving, and to 
I finish the whole, while we were giving a welcoming carousal to the New 
1 Year, our shop, by the drunken carelessness of my partner's wife, took 
I fire, and was burned to ashes ; and left me, like a true poet, not worth a 
sixpence. " * In Irvine his reading was only increased, he says, by two 
' volumes of Pamela, and one of Ferdinand, Count Fathom, which gave him 
' some idea of novels. Rhyme, except some religious pieces that are in 
! print, he had given up, but meeting with Fergiisson's Scottish Poems, he 
f " strung anew his lyre with emulating vigor." He also formed a friend- 
ship for a young fellow, "a very noble character," Richard Brown, and 
with others of a freer manner of thinking and living than he had been 
I used to, " the consequence of which was," he says, "that soon after I re- 
sumed the plough, I wrote the Poefs Welcome " (to his illegitimate child). 
I But this was not till the summer of 1784. Before leaving Lochlea he be- 
came a Freemason. 

I * From orig. in Museum. Burns wrote an interesting and affecting letter to his 

I father, from Irvine. Dr. Cuvrie dates it 1781, which we think is an error. The poet's 

Btfttement is corroborated by his brother's narrative, and the stone chimney of the 



46 CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 

MOSSGIEL. 
1 7 84 — (Twenty-five). 

February 13. — William Burnes died at Loclilea in his sixty-fourth year, 
t is affairs in utter ruin. His sons and two grown-up daughters ranked as 
creditors of their father for arrears of wages, and raised a little money to 
stock another farm. This new farm was that of Mossgiel, parish of Mauch- 
line, which had been sub-let to them by Gavin Hamilton, writer (or attor- 
ney) in Mauchline. They entered on the farm in March: " Come, go to, 
I will be wise," resolved the poet, but bad seed and a late harvest deprived 
them of half their expected crop. Poetry was henceforth to be the only 
successful vocation of Robert Burns. To this year may be assigned the 
Epistle to John Rankine (a strain of rich humor, but indelicate), and some 
minor pieces. In April or May he commenced his acquaintance with 
"Bonnie Jean" — Jean Armour — an event which colored all his future life, 
imparting to it its brightest lights and its darkest shadows. 

1785— (Twenty-six). 

In January the Epistle ^0 i)a^^■d completed : Death and Dr. Hornbook writ- 
ten about February. Ejnstles to J. Lapraik, April 1, 21, and September 13, 
Epistle to W. Simpson in May. TJie Tioa Herds, or the Holy Tulzie : this 
satire was the first of his poetic offspring that saw the light (excepting 
some of his songs), and it was received by a certain description of th^ 
clergy, as well as laity, with a " roar of applause." Burns had now taken 
his side with the "New Light," or rationalistic section of the church, then 
in violent antagonism to the " Auld Light," or evangelistic party, which 
comprised the great bulk of the lower and middling classes. To this year 
belong TJie Jolly Beggars, Halloween, The Cotter's Saturday Night, Man was 
made to Mourn, Address to the Deil, To a Mouse, A Winter Night, Holy 
Willies Prayer, and The Holy Fair (early MS. in British Museum), Epistle 
to James Smith, etc. 

1786 — (Twenty-seven). 

In rapid succession were produced Scotch Drink, The Author's Earnest Cry 
and Prayer, The Twa Dogs, The Ordination, Address to the Unco Guid, To a 
Mountain Daisy, Epistle to a Young Friend, A Bard's Epitaph, The Lament, 
Despondency, etc. Such a body of original poetry, written within about 



room occupied by the poet is inscribed, evidently by his own hand, " R. B. 1782." He 
consoled himself for his loss after this fashion : — 



O, why the deuce should I repine, 

And be an ill f oreboder ? 
I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine, 

I'll go and be a sodger." 






CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 47 

twelve months, — poetry so natural, forcible, and picturesque, so quaint, 
sarcastic, humorous, and tender — had unquestionably not appeared since 
Shakespeare. Misfortunes, however, were gathering round the poet. 
The farm had proved a failure, and the connection with Jean Armour 
brought grief and shame. He gave her a written acknowledgment of mar- 
riage, but at the urgent entreaty of her father she consented that this doc- 
ument should be destroyed. The poet was frantic with distress and in- 
dignation. He resolved on quitting the country, engaged to go out to 
Jamaica as book-keeper on an estate, and, to raise money for his passage, 
arranged to publish his poems. Subscription papers were issued in April. 
In the meantime, in bitter resentment of the perfidy, as he esteemed it, of 
the unfortunate Jean Armour, he renewed his intimacy with a former love, 
Mary Campbell, or "Highland Mary," who had been a servant in the 
family of Gavin Hamilton, and was now dairy-maid at Coilsfield, He pro- 
posed marriage to Mary Campbell, was accepted, and Mary left her service 
and went to her parents in Argyleshire, preliminary to her union with the 
poet. They parted on the banks of the Ayr, on Sunday, May 14, ex- 
changing Bibles and vowing eternal fidelity. No more is heard of Mary 
until after her death, which took place in October of this year. The poems 
were published in August, an edition of 600 copies, and were received with 
enthusiastic applause. The poet cleared about £20 by the volume, took a 
passage in the first ship that was to sail from the Clyde (nothing is said of 
Mary accompanying him), and was preparing to embark, when a letter 
from Dr. Blacklock, offering encouragement for a second edition, roused 
his poetic ambition, and led him to try his fortune in Edinburgh. Before 
starting he made the acquaintance of Mrs, Dunlop of Dunlop, the most 
valued and one of the most accomplished of his correspondents. 

EDINBURGH. 

November 28, 1786. — Burns reaches the Scottish capital, and instantly 
becomes the lion of the season. He is courted and caressed by the witty, 
the fashionable, and the learned — by Dugald Stewart, Harry Erskine, Hugh 
Blair, Adam Ferguson, Dr. Robertson, Lord Monboddo, Dr. Gregory, 
FraserTytler, Lord Glencairn, Lord Eglinton, Patrick Miller (tlie ingenious 
laird of Dalswinton), the fascinating Jane, Duchess of Gordon, ]Miss Burnet, 
etc. Henry Mackenzie, the "Man of Feeling," writes a critique on the 
poems in the Lounger, — the members of the Caledonian Hunt subscribe for 
a hundred copies of the new edition, — and the poet is in a fair way, as he 
says, of becoming as eminent as Thomas a Kempis or John Bunyan. 

178 7 — (Twenty-eight). 
Bums applies for and obtains permission to erect a tombstone in Canon- 



48 CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 

gate Churchyard over the remains of Fergusson the poet. In April ap- 
pears the second edition of tlie Poems, consisting of 3,000 copies, with a 
list of subscribers prefixed, and a portrait of the poet. In this edition 
appeared Death and Dr. Hornbook, the Ordination, and Address to iJ 
Unco Guid, which were excluded from the first edition, and several nei 
pieces, the best of which are the Brigs of Ayr 2l\i6. Tarn Samson's E 
On the 5th of May the poet sets off on a tour with a young friend, Robei 
Ainslie, in order to visit the most interesting scenes in the south of Scot^ 
land. Crossing the Tweed over Coldstream bridge. Burns knelt down or 
the English side and poured forth, uncovered, and with strong emotionj 
the praj^er for Scotland contained in the two last stanzas of the Cotter's^ 
Saturday Night. June 4, he was made an honorary burgess of the town of 
Dumfries, after which he proceeded to Ayrshire, and arrived at Mauchline 
on the 9th of June. " It will easily be conceived," says Dr. Currie, " with 
what pleasure and pride he was received by his mother, his brothers, and 
sisters. He had left them poor and comparatively friendless ; lie returned 
to them high in public estimation, and easy in his circumstances." At 
this time the poet renewed his intimacy with Jean Armour. Towards the 
end of the month he made a short Highland tour, in which he visited Loch 
Lomond and Dumbarton, and returning to Mauchline, we find him (July 25) 
presiding as Deputy Grand Master of the Tarbolton Mason Lodge, and 
admitting Professor Dugald Stewart, Mr. Alexander of Ballochmyle, 
and others, as honorary members of the Lodge. On the 25th of August 
the poet set off from Edinburgh on a northern tour with William Nicol 
of the High School. They visited Bannockburn, spent two days at Blair 
with the Duke of Athole and family, proceeded as far as Inverness, then 
by way of Elgin, Fochabers (dining with the Duke and Duchess of Gordon), 
on to Aberdeen, Stonehaven, and Montrose, where he met his relatives the 
Burneses. Arrived at Edinburgh on the 16th of September. In De- 
cember made the acquaintance of Glarinda, or Mrs, M'Lehose, with 
whom he kept up a passionate correspondence for about three months. 
Overset by a drunken coachman, and sent home with a severely bruised 
knee, which confined him for several weeks. Mr. A. Wood, surgeon 
"lang Sandy Wood," applies to Mr. Graham of Fintry, Commissioner 
of Excise, and gets Burns's name enrolled among the number of expectant 
Excise officers. During all this winter the poet zealously assists Mr. 
James Johnson in his publication, the Scots Musical Museum. 

1788 — (Twenty-nine). 

Left Edinburgh for Dumfries to inspect Mr. Miller's lands at Dalswinton. 
Stopped by the way at Mossgiel, February 23. Poor Jean Armour, who 
had again loved not wisely, but too well, was living apart, separated from 
her parents, and supported by Burns. He visited her the day before his 



CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 49 

departure for Dumfries (apparently February 24), and it is painful to find 
him writing thus to Clarinda: "I, this morning as I came home, called 
for a certain woman. I am disgusted with her. I cannot endure her. I, 
while my heart smote me for the profanity, tried to compare her with my 
Clarinda ; 'twas setting the expiring glimmer of a farthing taper beside 
the cloudless glory of the meridian sun. Here was tasteless insipidity, 
vulgarity of soul, and mercenary fawning; there, polished good sense. 
Heaven-born genius, and the most generous, the most delicate, the most 
tender passion. I have done with her, and she with me. " ^ In less than 
two months they were married ! In this, as in the Highland Mary episode, 
Burns's mobility, or "excessive susceptibility of immediate impressions," 2 
seems something marvelous, and more akin to the French than the Scotch 
character. Returned to Edinburgh in March, and on the 13th took a lease 
of the farm of Ellisland, on the banks of the Nith. On the 19th settled 
with Creech, the profits from the Edinburgh edition, and copj^right being 
about £500, of w^hicli the poet gave £180 to his brother Gilbert, as a loan, 
to enable him to continue (with the family) at Mossgiel. In the latter end 
of April Burns was privately married to Jean Armour, and shortly after- 
wards wrote on her his two charming songs. Of a' the air ts the wind can 
blow, and 0, icei^e I on Parnassus hill ! 

ELLISLAND. 

In June the poet went to reside on his farm, his wife remaining at 
Mauchline until a new house should be built at Ellisland. Formed the 
acquaintance of Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, a gentleman of literary and 
antiquarian tastes, who resided at Friars, Carse, within a mile of Ellisland. 
On 28th June wrote Verses in Friars Carse Hermitage. August 5, the 
poet at Mauchline made public acknowledgment of his marriage before the 
Kirk Session, at the same time giving " a guinea note for behoof of the 
poor." In December conducted Mrs. Burns to the banks of the Nith. / 
hae a loife 0' my ain ! 

1789— (Thirty). 

Visited Edinburgh in February, and received about £50 more of copy- 
right money from Creech. August 18, son born to the poet, named Francis 
Wallace. About the same time received appointment to the Excise. 
October 16, the great bacchanalian contest for the Whistle took place at 
Friars Carse in presence of the poet. On the 20tli of October (as calculated, 
and indeed proved by Mr. Chambers) the sublime affecting lyric, To Mary 
in Heaven, was composed. Met Grose the antiquary at Friars Carse, and 

* From the original, published in Banffshire Journal. 

' So defined by Byron, who was himself a victim to this " unhappy attribute." See 
" Don Juan," canto xvi. 97. 

4 



50 CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 

afterwards wrote the humorous poem On Captain Orose's Peregrinations. 
In December was written the election ballad The Five Carlines. 

1 7 90— (Thirty-one). 
January 11. — Writes to Gilbert that his farm is a ruinous affair. On the 
14th, addressing his friend Mr. Dunbar, W.S., relative to his Excise ap- 
pointment, he says : " I found it a very convenient business to have £50 per 
annum ; nor have I yet felt any of those mortifying circumstances in it I 
was led to fear." The duties were hard; he had to ride at least 200 miles 
every week, but he still contributed largely to the Scots Musical Museum, 
wrote the elegy On Captain Matthew Henderson (one of the most exquisite 
of the poet's productions), and in autumn produced Tarn O'SJianter, by, 
universal assent the crowning glory and masterpiece of its author. 

1791 —(Thirty-two). 
In February wrote Lament of Mary Queen of Scots, and Lament for Jam^ 
Earl of Olencairn. In March had his right arm broken by the fall of hiis 
horse, and was for some weeks disabled from writing. In this month also 
occurred an event which probably caused deeper pain than the broken 
arm. First, as Mr. Chambers says, "we have a poor girl lost to the rep 
utable world;" (this was "Anna with the go wden locks," niece to the 
hostess of the Globe Tavern;) " next we have Burns seeking an asylum 
for a helpless infant at his brother's ; then a magnanimous wife interposing 
with the almost romantically generous offer to become herself its nurse 
and guardian." i April 9, a third son born to the poet, and named William 
Nicol. At the close of the month the poet sold his crop at Ellisland, "and 
sold it well." Declined to attend the crowning of Thomson's bust at 
Ednam, but wrote verses for the occasion. In November made a short 
visit — his last — to Edinburgh, and shortly afterwards wrote his inimitable 
farewell to Clarinda, Aefond kiss and then we sever. The fourth stanza of 
this song Sir Walter Scott said contained ' ' the essence of a thousand love 
tales." 

DUMFRIES. 

At Martinmas (Nov. 11), the poet having disposed of his stock and other 
effects at Ellisland, and surrendered the lease of the farm to Mr. Miller the 
proprietor, removed with his family to the town of Dumfries. He occupied 
for a year and a half three rooms of a second floor on the north side of 
Bank Street (then called the Wee Vennel). On taking up his residence in 
the town, Burns was well received by the higher class of inhabitants and 

1 Mrs. Burns was much attached to the child, who remained with her till she was 
seventeen years of age, when she married a soldier, John Thomson of the Stirling 
Mihtia. She is still living, and strongly resembles her father. Poor Anna the mother 
felt deeply the disgrace ; she, however, made a decent marriage in Leith, but died 
comparatively young, without any family by her husband. 



CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 5 I 

the neighboring gentry. One of the most accomplished of the latter was 
Mrs. Walter Riddle {nee Maria Woodley), then aged only about eighteen. 
This lady, with her husband, a brother of Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, 
lived on a small estate about four miles from Dumfries, which in compli- 
ment to the lady they called Woodley Park (now Goldielea). 

179 2 — (Thirty-three). 

February 27. — Burns behaved gallantly in seizing and boarding a smug- 
gling brig in the Solway. The vessel, with her arms and stores, was sold 
by auction in Dumfries, and Burns purchased four carronades or small 
guns, for which he paid £3. These he sent, with a letter, to the French 
Convention, but they were retained at Dover by the Custom-house authori- 
ties. This circumstance is supposed to have drawn on the poet the notice 
of his jealous superiors. He warmly sympathized with the French people 
in their struggle against despotism, and the Board of Excise ordered an 
inquiry into the poet's political conduct, though it is doubtful whether 
any reprimand was ever given him. In September Mr. George Thomson, 
Edinburgh, commenced his publication of national songs and melodies, and 
Burns cordially lent assistance to the undertaking, but disclaimed all idea 
or acceptance of pecuniary remuneration. On the 14th of November he 
transmitted to Thomson the song of Highland Mary, and next month one of 
the most arch and humorous of all his ditties, Duncan Gray cam here to icoo. 

1793— (Thirty-four). 

The poet continues his invaluable and disinterested labors for Mr. 
Thomson's publication. In July he makes an excursion into Galloway 
with his friend Mr. Syme, stamp distributor, and according to that gentle- 
man (though Burns's own statement on the subject is different), he com- 
posed his national song, Scots wha hae, in the midst of a thunder-storm on 
the wilds of Kenmure. The song was sent to Thomson in September, 
along with one no less popular, AuldLang Syne. At Whitsuntide the poet 
removed from the " Wee Vennel" to a better house (rent £8 per anmmi) 
in the Mill-hole Brae (now Burns Street), and in this house he lived till his 
death. His widow continued to occupy it till her death, March 26, 1834. 

1794 — (Thirty-five). 

At a dinner-party at Woodley Park, on one occasion the poet, like most 
of the guests, having exceeded in wine, was guilty of some act of rude- 
ness to the accomplished hostess which she and her friends resented very 
warmly. A rupture took place, and for nearly a twelvemonth there was 
no intercourse between the parties. During this interval Burns wrote 
several lampoons on Mrs. Riddel, wholly unworthy of him as a man or as 
a poet. April 4, Captain Riddel of Glenriddel died unreconciled to Burns, 



52 CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 

yet the latter honored his raemory with a sonnet. August 12, another son 
born to the poet, and named James Glencairn. During this autumn and 
winter Burns wrote some of his finest songs, inspired by the charms of Jane 
Lorimer, the ' ' Chloris " of many a lyric. In November he composed his 
lively songs. Contented ici'' little and cantie ici' mair, which he intended as 
a picture of his own mind ; but it is only, as Mr. Chambers says, the 
picture of one aspect of his mind. Mr. Perry of the Morning Chronicle 
wishes to engage Burns as a contributor to his paper, but the "truly gener- 
ous offer " is declined, lest connection with the Whig journal should injure 
his prospects in the Excise. For a short time he acted as supervisor, and 
thought that his political sins were forgiven. 

1 7 9 5— (Thirty-six). 

In January the poet composed his manly and independent song For a^ 
that and a' that. His intercourse with Maria Riddel is renewed, and she 
sends him occasionally a book, or a copy of verses, or a ticket for the 
theater. He never relaxes his genial labors for the musical works of 
Johnson and Thomson, and he writes a series of election ballads in favor 
of the Whig candidate, Mr. Heron. He joins the Dumfriesshire corps of 
Volunteers, enrolled in the month of March, and writes his loyal and pa- 
triotic song, Does haughty Oaul invasion threat ? also his fine national strain, 
Their groves of sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, and one of the best of 
his ballads. Last May a braic icooer. The poet's health, however, gives 
way, and premature age has set in. 

179 6— (Thirty-seven), 

The decline of the poet is accelerated by an accidental circumstance. 
One night in January he sat late in the Globe Tavern. There was deep 
snow on the ground, and in going home he sank down, overpowered by 
drowsiness and the liquor he had taken, and slept for some hours in the 
open air. From the cold caught on this occasion he never wholly re- 
covered. He still, however, continued his song-writing, and one of the 
most beautiful and most touching of his lyrics was also one of his latest. 
This was the song beginning Here's a health to ane I We dear, written on 
Jessy Lewars, a maiden of eighteen, sister to a brother exciseman, who 
proved a "ministering angel" to the poet in his last illness. In May, 
another election called forth another ballad, Wha icill buy my troggin ? And 
«,bout the middle of June we find the poet writing despondingly to his old 
friend Johnson, and requesting a copy of the Scots Musical Museum to 
present to a young lady. This was no doubt the copy presented to Jessy 
Lewars, June 26, inscribed with the verses, Thine he the volumes, Jessy fair. 
As a last effort for health, Burns went on the 4th of July to Brow, a sea« 



CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 53 

bathing hamlet on the Solway. There he was visited by Maria Riddel, 
who thought " the stamp of death was imprinted on his features." He 
was convinced himself that his illness would prove fatal, and some time 
before this he had said to his wife, " Don't be afraid: I'll be more respect- 
ed a hundred years after I am dead, than I am at present." Mrs. Riddel 
saw the poet again on the 5th of July, when they parted to meet no more. 
On the 7th he wrote to his friend Alexander Cunningham to move the 
Commissoners of Excise to continue his full salary of £50 instead of re 
ducing it, as was the rule in the case of excisemen off duty, to £35. Mr. 
Findlater, his superior officer, says he had no doubt this would have been 
done had the poet lived. On the lOtli Burns wrote to his brother as to his 
hopeless condition, his debts, and his despair ; and on the same day he ad- 
dressed a request to his father-in-law, stern old James Armour, that he 
would write to Mrs. Armour, then in Fife, to come to the assistance of her 
daughter, the poet's wife, during the time of her confinement. His 
thoughts turned also to his friend Mrs. Dunlop, who had unaccountably 
been silent for some time. He recalled her interesting correspondence : 
"With what pleasure did I use to break up the seal ! The remembrance 
adds yet one pulse more to my poor palpitating heart. Farewell ! " Close 
on this dark hour of anguish came a lawyer's letter urging payment — and 
no doubt hinting at the serious consequences of non-payment — of a haber- 
dasher's account. This legal missive served to conjure up before the dis- 
tracted poet the image of a jail with all its horrors, and on the 12th he 
wrote two letters — one to his cousin in Montrose begging an advance of 
£10, and one to Mr. George Thomson imploring £5. ' ' Forgive, forgive 
me ! " He left the sea-side on the 18th, weak and feverish, but Avas able 
the same day, on arriving at his house in Dumfries, to address a second 
note to James Armour, reiterating the wish expressed six days before, but 
without eliciting any reply: "Do, for Heaven's sake, send jNIrs. Armour 
here immediately." From this period he was closely confined to bed (ac- 
cording to the statement of his widow), and was scarcely "himself" for 
half an hour together. He was aware of this infirmity, and told his wife 
that she was to touch him and remind him when he was going wrong. 
One day he got out of his bed, and his wife found him sitting in a corner 
of the room with the bed-clothes about him ; she got assistance, and he 
suffered himself to be gently led back to bed. The day before he died he 
called very quickly and with a hale voice, " Gilbert ! Gilbert ! " On the 
morning of the 21st, at daybreak, death was obviously near at hand, and 
the children were sent for. They had been removed to the house of Jessy 
Lewars and her brother, in order that the poet's dwelling might be kept 
quiet, and they were now summoned back that they might have a last look 
of their illustrious father in life. He was insensible, his mind lost in de- 
lirium, and, according to his eldest son, his last words were, " That d d 



54 CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 

rascal, Matthew Penn ! " — an execration against the legal agent who had 
written the dunning letter. And so ended this sad and stormy life -drama, 
and the poet passed, as Mr. Carlyle has said, "not softly but speedily into 
that still country where the hail-storms and fire-showers do not reach, and 
the heaviest-laden wayfarer at length lays down his load." On the even- 
ing of Sunday, the 24th of July, the poet's remains were removed from 
his house to the Town Hall, and next day were interred with military 
honors. 



POEMS. 



THE TWA DOGS.i 



A TALE. 



'TwAS in that place o' Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, 
Upon a bonie day in June, 
When wearing thro' the afternoon, 
Twa dogs, that were ua thrang at hame, 
Forgather'd ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, 
Was keepit for his Honor's pleasure : 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs; 
But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Whare sailors gang to fish for Cod. 

His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar, 
Show'd him the gentleman and scholar; 
But tho' he was o' high degree, 
The fient a pride — nae pride had he ; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin, 
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gipsey's messin. 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, 
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him. 
An' stroan't on stanes and hillocks wi' him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, 
Wha for his friend and comrade had him. 
An' in his freaks had Luath ^ ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highland sang. 
Was made lang syne, — Lord knows how lang. 

He was a gash an' faithf u' tyke, 
As ever lap a slieugh or dike. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'ut face, 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place ; 

* The tale of the " Twa Dogs," Gilbert Burns writes, was composed after the resolution 
of publishing was nearly taken. Robert had a dog which he called Luath, that was 

' a great favorite. The dog had been killed by the wanton cruelty of some person the 
night before my father's death. Robert said to me. that he should like to confer sucli 

rimmortality as he could bestow on his old friend Luath. and tliat he had a great mind 
"to introduce something into the book, under the title of Stanzas to the Memory of a 
Quadruped Friend : but this plan was given up for the poem as it now stands. Caesar 
was merely the creature of the poet's imagination, created for the purpose of holding 
chat with his favorite Luath. 

* Luath, CuchuUin's dog in Ossian's Fingal. R. B, 

55 



56 THE TWA DOGS. 



His breast was white, his touzie back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl, 
Hung owre his hurdles wi' a swirl. 

Kae doubt but they were fain o' ither, 
An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuff 'd and snowkit ; 
Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit ; 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
An' worry'd ither in diversion ; 
Until wi' daffin weary grown, 
Upon a knowe they sat them down, 
An' there began a lang digression 
About the lords o' the creation. 

C^SAR. 

I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw. 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava. 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents. 
His coals, his kain, an' a' his stents : 
He rises when he likes himsel ; 
His flunkies answer at the bell; 
He ca's his coach; he ca's his horse; 
He draws a bonie, silken purse 
As lang's my tail, whare thro' the steaks, 
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks. 

Frae morn to e'en, it's naught but toiling, 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin. 
Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan, 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and such like trashtrie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner, 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner, 
Better than ony tenant man 
His Honor has in a' the Ian : 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in 
I own it's past my comprehension. 

LUATH. 

Trowth, C?esar, whyles they're fash't eneugh; 
A cotter howkin in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke. 
Baring a quarry . and siclike, 
Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, 
An' naught but his han" darg, to keep 
Them right an' tight in thack an' rape. 

An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters. 



^ 



THE TWA DOGS. 57 



Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, 
An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger; 
But, how it comes, I never l^end j^et, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
An' buirdly chiels, and clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

C^SAR. 

But then to see how ye're negleckit, 
How hulT'd, an cuff'd, an' disrespeckit ! 
Lord, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle, 
They gang as saucy by poor folk, 
As I wad by a stinking brock. 

I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, 
An' mony a time my heart's been wae, 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
How they maun thole a factor's snash : 1 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear. 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; 
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble 
An' hear it a', an fear an' tremble ! 
I I see how folk live that hae riches ; 

But surely r>oor folk maun be wretches. 

LUATH. 

They're no sae wretched's ane wad think: 
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink : 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance an' fortune are sae guided, 
They're ay in less or mair provided; 
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjo3^ment. 
The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives: 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fire-side. 

An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy 
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
To mind the Kirk and State affairs ; 
They'll talk o' patronage an' priests, 
Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts, 
Or tell what new taxation's comin. 
An' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. 

1 Burns alludes to the factor in the autobiographical sketch communicated to Dr. 
John Moore. 

" My father's generous master died: the farm proved a ruinous bargain: and, to 
clench the misfortune, we fell into the hands of a factor who sat for the picture 
I have drawn of one in my tale of the ' Twa Dogs ' . . . my indignation yet boils at 
the recollection of the scoundrel factor's insolent threatening letters, which usecj 
|» set us all in tears," 



58 THE TWA DOGS. 



1 



As bleak- fac'd Hallowmass returns, 
They get the jovial, ranting kirns. 
When rural life, o' ev'ry station, 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins, 
They bar the door on frosty winds ; 
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam; 
The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill, 
Are handed round wi' right guid will ; 
The cantie auld folks crackiu crouse, 
The young anes ranting thro' the house,- 
My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae barket wi' them. 

Still its owre true that je hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 
There's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsout folk, 
Are riven out baith root an' branch. 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
In favor wi' some gentle Master, 
Wha, aiblins, thrang a parliamentin. 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin — 



CMSAR. 

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it ; 
For Britain's guid ! guid faith ! I doubt it 
Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him. 
An' saying ai/e or no's they bid him : 
At operas an' plays parading. 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading: 
Or maybe, in a frolic daft, 
To Hague or Calais taks a waft. 
To make a tour, an' tak a whirl, 
To learn bon ton an' see the worl'. 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
He rives his father's auld entails ; 
Or b}^ Madrid he taks the rout. 
To thrum guitars, an' fecht wi' nowt ; 
Or down Italian vista startles. 
Whore-hunting amang groves o' myrtles: 
Then houses drumly German water, 
To mak himsel look fair and fatter, 
An' clear the consequential sorrows. 
Love-gifts of Carnival Signoras. 
For Britain's guid ! for her destruction ! 
Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction ! 



THE TWA DOGS. 



59 



LUATH. 

Hech, man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw estate ? 
Are we sae foughten an' harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last ? 

O would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please themsels wi' countra sports, 
It wad for ev'ry ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter! 
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows; 
Except for breaking o' their timmer, 
Or speaking lightly o' their limmer, 
Or shootin o' a hare or moor-cock, 
The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk. 

But will ye tell me, Master Caesar, 
Sure great folk's life's a life o" pleasure ? 
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them, 
The vera thought o't need na fear them. 



C^SAR. 

Lord, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 

It's true, they need na starve or sweat. 
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat; 
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, 
An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes : 
But human bodies are sic fools. 
For a' their colleges and schools, 
That when nae real ills perplex them. 
They mak enow themselves to vex them ; 
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them. 
In like proportion, less will hurt them. 

A country fellow at the pleugh. 
His acre's till'd, he's right eneugh ; 
A country girl at her wheel. 
Her dizzen's done, she's unco weel ; 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy ; 
Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy : 
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless; 
Their nights unquiet, lang, an' restless; 

An' ev'n their sports, their balls an' races, 
Their galloping thro' public places. 
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 

The men cast out in party -matches, 
Then sowther a' in deep debauches. 
Ae night, they're mad wi' drink an' whoring, 
Niest day their life is past enduring. 



6o SCOTCH DRINK. 



The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 
As great an' gracious a' as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
They're a' run deils an' jads thegither. 
Whyles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks, 
Pore ower the devil's pictur'd beuks ; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, 
An' cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard. 

There's some exceptions, man an' woman; 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
An' darker gloamin brought the night: 
The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone, 
The kye stood rowtin i' the loan ; 
When up they gat, an' shook their lugs, 
Rejoic'd they were na men but dogs ; 
An' each took aff his several way, 
Resolv'd to meet some ither day. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 



Qie Mm strong drink, until he wink., 

ThaVs sink^'ng in despair ; 
An"" liquor guid to fire his bluid, 

That's prest wV grief an'' care ; 
There let him bouse, an'' deep carouse^ 

Wi'' bumpers flowing o''ers 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 

An'' minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6. 

Let other Poets raise a fracas 

'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus, 

An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us. 

An' grate our lug, 
I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us, 

In glass or jug. 

O thou, my Muse ! guid auld Scotch Drink, 
Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink. 
Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink. 

In glorious faem, 
Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink. 

To sing thy name ! 

Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn. 
An' Aits set up their awnie horn, 
An' Pease an' Beans at e'en or morn, 

Perfume the plain, 
Leeze me on thee, John Barlej^corn, 

Thou King o' grain 1 



SCOTCH DRINK. 6l 



On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, 
In souple scones, the wale o' food ! 
Or tumblin in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an' beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, 

There thou shines chief. 



Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin ; 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
"When heavy-dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin ; 

But oil'd by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin, 

Wi' rattlin glee. ' 

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear: 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labor sair, 

At's weary toil : 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft, clad in massy, siller weed, 
Wi' Gentles thou erects thy head ; 
Yet humbly kind, in time o' need. 

The poor man's wine, 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 

Thou kitchens fine. 



Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 

But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? 

Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts. 

By thee inspir'd, 
When gaping they besiege the tents, 

Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry night we get the corn in ! 
O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn in! 
Or reekin on a New-Year mornin 

In cog or bicker. 
An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, 

An' gusty sucker! 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
An' ploughmen gather wi' tlieir graith, 
O rare ! to see thee fizz an' f reath 

I' th' luggct caup! 
Then Burnewin comes on like Death 

At ev'ry cliaup. 

Nae mercy,- then, for airn or steel ; 
The brawuie, banie, ploughman chiel. 



62 SCOTCH DRINK. 



Brings hard owre liip, wi' sturdy wheel, 
The strong forehammer, 

Till block an' studdie ring an' reel 

Wi' dinsome clamor. 

"When skirlin weanies see the light, 
Thou niaks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumblin' cuifs their dearies slight, 

Wae worth the name ! 
Nae Howdie gets a social night, 

Or plack frae them. 

When neebors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud as wud can be. 
How easy can the barley -bree 

Cement the quarrel! 
It's aye the cheapest Lawyer's fee, 

To taste the barrel. 

Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reasctfi 
To wyte her countrymen wi' treasoa! 
But monie daily weet their weason 

Wi' liquors nice, 
An' hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash! 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! 
Twins monie a poor, dojit, druken hash, 

O' half his days ; 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 

To her warst faes. 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well, 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell. 
Poor plackless devils like mysel' 

It sets 3^ou ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell. 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blather wrench. 
An' gouts torment him, inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi" a glunch 

O' sour disdain. 
Out owre a glass o' Whisky punch 

Wi' honest men ! 

O Whisky ! soul o' plays an' pranks ! 

Accept a Bardie's gratef u' thanks ! 

When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 

Are my poor verses ! 
Thou comes they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither's a — s 1 



THE author's earnest CRY AND PRAYER. 63 

Thee, Ferintosli ! O sadly lost ! 
Scotland, lament frae coast to coast! 
Now colic-grips, an' barkin hoast, 

May kill us a' ; 
For loyal Forbes' cliarter'd boast 

Is ta'en awa ! 

Thae curst horse -leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha mak the Whisky Stells their prize! 
Hand up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice! 

There, seize the blinkers! 
An' bake them up in brunstane pies 

For poor damn'd drinkers. 

Fortune ! if thou '11 but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an' Whisky gill, 
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak' a' the rest. 
An' deal't about as thy blind skill 
f Directs thee best. 



THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER.i 

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND HONORABLE THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE 
HOUSE OF COMMONS. 

Dearest of Distillation ! last and best — 

Hotv art thou lost ! 

Parody on Milton. 

Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, 
Wha represent our brughs an' shires, 
An' doucely manage our affairs 

In Parliament, 
To you a simple Bardie's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 

Alas ! my roupet Muse is hearse ; 

Your Honors' heart wi' grief 'twad pierce, 

To see her sitten on her a — 

Low i' the dust. 
An' scriechin out prosaic verse, 

An' like to brust I 

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an' me's in great affliction, 
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 

On AquavitcT; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 

An' move their pity. 

1 This was wrote before the Act anent the Scotch Distilleries, of Session, .1786 ; for 
which Scotland and the author return their most grateful thanks. R. B. 



64 THE author's earnest 

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Youth, 

The honest, open, naked truth : 

Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, 

His servants humble : 
The muckle devil blaw ye south, 

If ye dissemble ! 

Does ony great man glunch an' gloom ? 
Speak out, an' never fash your thumb ! 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 

Wi' them wha grant 'em: 
If honestly they canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'rin votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 

Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greetin owre her thrissle ; 
Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissle: 
An' damn'd Excisemen in a bussle, 

Seizin a Stell, 
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel 

Or lampit shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 

A blackguard Smuggler, right behint her, 

An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie Vintner, 

Colleaguing join, 
Picking her pouch as bare as Winter 

Of a' kind coin. 

Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, 
To see his poor auld Mither's pot 

Thus dung in staves, 
An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves ? 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, 

Trode i' the mire out o' sight ! 

But could I like Montgomeries ^ fight. 

Or gab like Bos well,'' 
There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight, 

An' tie some hose well. 

God bless your Honors, can ye see't, 
The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet, 

1 The allusion in the text is primarily to Hugh Montgomerie of Coilsfleld, twelfG 
Earl of Eglintoune. 
' James Boswell of Auchinleck, Johnson's biographer. 



CRY AND PRAYER. 65 



An' no get warmly to your feet, 

An' gar them hear it ? 
An' tell them, wi' a patriot-heat. 

Ye winna bear it ! 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws, 
To round the period an' pause, 
An' with rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak harangues ; 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's 

Auld Scotland's wrangs. 

Dempster,! a true blue Scot I'se warran; 
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran;^ 
An' that glib-gabbet Highland Baron, 

The Laird o' Graham ; ^ 
An' ane, a chap that's damn'd auldfarran, 

Dundas * his name. 

Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie ; 
True Campbells, Frederick an' Hay ; ^ 
An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie ; 

An' monie ithers, 
Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully 

Might own for brithers. 

Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle ; 
Or faith ! 1*11 wad my new pleugh-pettle, 

Ye'U see't or lang, 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, 

Anither sang. 

This while she's been in crankous mood, 
Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid ; 
(Deil na they never mair do guid, 

Play'd her that pliskie !) 
An' now she's like to rin red-wud 

About her Whisky. 

An' Lord, if ance they pit her till't, 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt. 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt, 

She'll tak the streets. 
An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 

I' th' first she meets ! 

* George Dempster, Esq., of Dunnichen. 

* Sir Adam Fergusson of Kilkerran, Bart. 

' The Marquis of Graham, eldest son of tlie Duke of Montrose. 

* The Right Hon. Henry Dundas, Treasurer of the Navy, and M. P. for the city of 
Edinburgh. 

* Lord Frederick Campbell, second brother of the Duke of Argyle, and Hay Campbell, 
Lord Advocate of Scotland. 

5 



66 THE author's earnest 

' , « 

For God sake, Sirs ! then speak her fair, 
An' straik her cannie wi' the hair, 
An' to the muckle house repair, 

Wi' instant speed. 
An' strive, wi' a' your wit and lear, 

To get remead. 

Yon ill tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks; 
But gie him't het, my hearty cocks ! 

E'en CO we the cadie ! 
An' send him to his dicing- box 

An' sportin lady. 

Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's ^ 

I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, 

An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock's ' 

Nine times a-week, 
If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, 

Wad kindly seek. 

Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
He need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition. 
Yon mixtie-maxtie queer hotch-potch, 

The Coalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue ; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung; 
An' if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 
Tho' by the neck she should be strung, 

She'll no desert. 

An' now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty, 
May still your Mither's heart support ye ; 
Then, though a Minister grow dorty. 

An' kick your place, 
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty. 

Before his face. 

God bless your Honors a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail an' brats o' claise. 
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes 

That haunt St. Jamie's I 
Your humble Bardie sings an' prays 

While Rab his name is. 

1 TheEarl of Chatham, Pitt's father, was the second son of Robert Pitt of Boconnock, 
in the county of Cornwall. 

2 A worthy old hostess of the author's in Mauchline, where he sometimes studies 

Eolitics over a glass of guid old Scotch drink. R. B. Nanse was surprised at her 
ouse and name being thus dragged before the public. She declared that Burns had 
never taken three half-mutchkins in her house in all his life. 



CRY AND PRAYER. 6/ 



POSl'SCRIPT, 

Let half-starv'd slaves, in warmer skies, 
See future wines, rich-clust'riug, rise; 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, 

But blj'tlie an' frisky, 
She eyes her free-born, martial boys, 

Tak aff their Whisky. 

What the' their Phoebus kinder warms. 
While fragrance blooms an' beauty charms 1 
When wretches range, in famish'd swarms. 

The scented groves, 
Or hounded forth, dishonor arms 

In hungry droves. 

Their gun's a burden on their shouther; 
They downa bide the stink o' powther; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither 

To Stan' or rin, 
Till skelp — a shot — they're aff, a' throwther, 

To save their skin. 

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, 
Say, such is royal George's will, 

An' there's the foe. 
He has nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him; 
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him : 
Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him ; 

An' when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him 

In faint huzzas. 

Sages their solemn een may steek, 
An' raise a philosophic reek, 
An' physically causes seek, 

In clime an' season; 
But tell me Whisky's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland, my auld, respected Mitherl 
Tho' whyles ye moistifj^ your leather. 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tine your dam ; 
Freedom and Whisky gang thegither I 

Tak aft your dram I 



68 THE HOLY FAIR. 



THE HOLY FAIR. 



A robe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid craft Observation ; 
And secret hung, with poisoned crtist, 

The dirk of Defamation ; 
A mask that like the gorget show'd, 

Dye-varying on the pigeon ; 
And for a mantle large and broad. 

He wrapt him in Religion. 

Hypocrisy a-la-modb. 



Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 

When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the com, 

An' snuff the caller air. 
The risin' sun, owre Galston muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin ; 
The hares were hirplin down the funs. 

The lav'rocks they were chantin 

Fu' sweet that day. 

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad. 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three Hizzies, early at the road, 

Cam skelpin up the way. 
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, 

But ane wi' lyart lining ; 
The third, that gaed a wee a-back. 

Was in the fashion shining 

Fu' gay that day. 

The twa appear'd like sisters twin. 

In feature, form, an' claes ; 
Their visage wither'd, lang an' thin. 

An' saur as ony slaes : 
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp. 

As light as ony lambie, 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that day. 



Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, " Sweet lass, 

I think ye seem to ken me ; 
I'm sure I've seen that bonie face, 

But yet I canna name ye." 
Quo' she, an' laughin' as she spak. 

An' taks me by the ban's. 
"Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 

Of a' the ten comman's 

A screed some day. 



THE HOLY FAIR, 



69 



"My name is Fun — your cronie dear, 

The nearest friend ye hae ; 
An' this is Superstition here, 

An' that's Hypocrisy. 
I'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, 

To spend an hour in daffiu : 
Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair, 

We will get famous laughin 

At them this day." 

J Quoth I, " With a' my heart, I'll do't; 

I'll get my Sunday's sark on, 
An' meet you on the holy spot ; 

Faith, we'se hae line remarkin ! " 
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time. 

An' soon I made me ready ; 
For roads were clad, frae side to side, 
Wi' monie a wearie bodie, 

In droves that day. 

Here, farmers gash, in ridin graith 

Gaed hoddin by their cotters, 
There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith. 

Are springin owre the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, 

In silks an" scarlets glitter ; 
Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang. 

An' farls, bak'd wi' butter, , 

Fu' crump that day. 

When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws. 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show, 

On ev'ry side they're gath'rin, 
Some carryin dails, some chairs an' stools. 

An' some are busy bleth'rin 

Right loud that day. 

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, 

An' screen our countra gentry ; 
There, racer Jess,i an' twa-three whores, 

Are blinkin at the entry. 
Here sits a raw o' tittliu jades, 

Wi' heaving breast an' bare neck, 
An' there, a batch o' wabster lads. 

Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock 
For fun this day. 

* Racer Jess was a half-witted daughter of Poosie Nansie. She was a great pedes- 
trian, and died at MauchUne in 1813. 



JO THE HOLY FAIR. 



Here, some are thinkin on their sins, 

An' some upo' their claes ; 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 

Wi' screw'd up, grace-proud faces; 
On that, a set o' chaps, at watch, 

Thrang winkin on the lasses 

To chairs that day. 

O happy is that man an' blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Wha's ain dear lass, that he likes best, 

Comes clinkin down beside him ! 
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back. 

He sweetly does compose him ; 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 

An's loof upon her bosom 

Unkend that day. 

Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation ; 
For Moodie speels the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' damnation. 
Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' God present him, 
The vera sight o' Hoodie's face, 

To's ain het hame had sent him 

Wi' fright that day. 

Hear how he clears the points o' faith 

Wi" rattlin an wi' thumpin ! 
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 

He's stampin an' he's jumpin! 
His lengthen'd chin, his turned-up snout, 

His eldritch squeel an' gestures, 
O how they fire the heart devout. 

Like cantharidian plasters, 

On sic a day ! 

But, hark ! the tent has chang'd its voice ; 

There's peace an' rest nae langer : 
For a' the real judges rise, 

They canna sit for anger. 
Smith 1 opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars an' barrels 

A lift that day. 

What signifies his barren shine 

Of moral pow'rs an' reason ? 
His English style, an' gesture fine, 

Are a' clean out o' season. 

1 The Rev. George Smith, minister at Galston. 



THE HOLY FAIR. 



Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld pagan Heathen, 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's right that day. 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison 'd nostrum : 
For Peebles, 1 frae the water-fit, 

Ascends the hoi}' rostrum : 
See, up he's got the word o' God 

An' meek an mim has view'd it. 
While Common Sense has ta'en the road, 

An' aff, an' up the Cowgate 2 

Fast, fast, that day. 

Wee Miller, =^ neist, the Guard relieves. 

An' Orthodoxy raibles, 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes, 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
But, faith ! the birkie wants a Manse, 

So, cannilie he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like haflains-wise o'ercomes him 

At times that day. 

Now, butt an' ben, the Change-house fills, 

Wi' yill-caup Commentators : 
Here's crying out for bakes an' gills, 

An' there the pint-stowp clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' logic, an' wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that in the end 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day. 

Leeze me on Drink ! it gi'es us mair 

Than either School or College : 
It kindles Wit, it waukens Lair, 

It pangs us fou o' Knowledge. 
Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep, 

Or ony stronger potion. 
It never fails, on drinkin' deep. 

To kittle up our notion 

By night or day. 

The lads an' lasses, blythely bent 
To mind baith saul an' body, 

J The Rev. William Peebles, minister of Newton -upon-Ayr. 
* A street so called, which faces the tent in Mauchline. R. B, 

; The Rev. W. IMiller. assistant preacher at Auchinleck, and afterwards minister of 
Kilmaurs, near Kilmarnock. He was of short stature. 



72 THE HOLY FAIR. 



Sit round the table, weel content, 

An' steer about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, 

They're makin observations ; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin assignations 

To meet some day. 

But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are rairin, 
An' echoes back return the shouts ; 

Black Russel ' is na spairin : 
His piercing words, like Highlan swords, 

Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
His talk o' Hell, where devils dwell. 

Our vera " sauls does harrow " 

Wi' fright that day ! 

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fill'd fou o' lowin brunstane' 
Wha's ragin flame, an' scorchin heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane ! 
The half asleep start up wi' fear. 

An' think they hear it roarin. 
When presently it does appear, 

'Twas but some neebor snorin 

Asleep that day. 

'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell 

How monie stories past. 
An' how they crowded to the yill, 

When they were a' dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups 

Amang the furms and benches ; 
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Was dealt about in lunches. 

An' dawds that day. 

In comes a gaucie, gash Guidwife, 

An' sits down by the fire, 
Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife ; 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld Guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother. 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' gi'es them't like a tether, 

Fu' lang that day. 

Waesucks ! for him that gets nae lass, 

Or lasses that hae naething ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace, 

Or melvie his braw claithing ! 

» The Rev. John Russel, minister of the Chapel of Ease, Kilmarnock. 
* Shakespeare's Hamlet. R. B. 



DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 73 



O Wives, be mindfu', ance yoursel 

How bonie lads ye wanted, 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a day ! 

Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattling tow, 

Begins to jow an' croon ; 
Some swagger hame, the best they dow, 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps the billies halt a blink. 

Till lasses strip their shoon : 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, 

They're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 

I How monie hearts this day converts 

> O' sinners and o' lasses ! 

Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine, 

There's some are fou o' brandy ; 
An' monie jobs that day begin. 
May end in Houghmagandie 

Some ither day. 

DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK.i 

A TRUE STORY. 

Some books are lies frae end to end, 
And some great lies were never penn'd : 
Ev'n Ministers, they hae been kenn'd. 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid, at times, to vend. 

And nail't wi' Scripture. 

But this that I am gaun to tell, 
Which lately on a night befell, 
Is just as true's the Deil's in hell ' 

Or Dublin city : 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

's a muckle pity. 

1 The composition of " Death and Doctor Hornbook " was suggested by the circum- 
stances related in the Preface. It was composed rapidly. Burns met the apothecary 
at a meeting of the Tarbolton Masonic lodge, and the next afternoon he repeated the 
entire poem to Gilbert. With reference to its composition, Mr. Allen Cunningham 
supplies the following tradition, which is nonsense on the face of it. 

'' On his way home "—from the Masonic meeting—" the Poet found a neighbor lying 
tipsy by the road-side : the idea of Death flashed on his fancy, and seating himself 
on the parapet of a bridge, he composed the poem, fell asleep, and when awakened 
by the morning sun, he recollected it all, and wrote it down on reaching Mossgiel. 

The laughter oooasioned by the publication of the satire drove, it is said, John 
"Wilson, schoolmaster and apothecary, out of the county. He ultimately settled in 
Glasgow, became Session Clerk of the" frorbals. and died in 1839. "Death and Doctor 
Hornbook " first appeared in the Edinburgh edition of the poems. 

' Mr. Robert "Wright, in his Life of Major-General James "Wolfe, states that " Hell " 



74 DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 

The Clacliaii yill had made me canty, 

I wasna fou, but just had plenty; 

I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches; 
An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd ay 

Frae ghaists an' witches. 

Tlie rising moon began to glowr 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre : 
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, 

I set mysel ; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I cou'd na tell. 

I was come round about the hill. 
And todlin down on Willie's mill. 
Setting my staff, wi' a' my skill, 

To keep me sicker ; 
Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, 
I took a bicker. 

I there wi' Something did forgather, 

That pat me in an eerie swither ; 

An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther. 

Clear-dangling, hang: 
A three-taed leister on the ither 

Lay, large an' lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw. 
For fient a wame it had ava, 

And then its shanks, 
They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' 

As cheeks o' branks, 

"Guid-een," quo' I; "Friend! hae ye been mawin, 
When ither folk are busy sawin ? " ' 
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan'. 

But naething spak ; 
At length, says I, "Friend, whare ye gaun, 

Will ye go back ? " 

It spak right howe — "My name is Death, 
But be na tiey'd."— Quoth I, " Guid faith, 
Ye're maybe come to stap my breath ; 

But tent me, billie : 
I red ye weel, tak car o' skaith, 

See, there's a gully ! " 

was the name given to the arched passage in Dublin which led into the area on the 
south side of Christ Church, and east of the law courts. A representation of the Devil, 
carved in oak, stood above the entrance. 
1 This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785. R. B. 



DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 75 

" Gudeman," quo' he, "put up your whittle, 
I'm no design'd to try its mettle ; 
But if I did, I wad be kittle 

To be mislear'd, 
I wad na mind it, no that spittle 

Out-owre my beard." 

"Weel, weel! " says I, "a bargain be't; 
Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't ; 
We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat. 

Come gies your news ; 
This while ye hae been mony a gate. 

At mony a house. "^ 

" Ay, ay ! " quo' he, an' shook his head, 
"It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed 
Sin' I began to nick the thread. 

An' choke the breath: 
Folk maun do something for their bread. 

An' sae maun Death. 

" Sax thousand years are near-hand fled, 

Sin' I was to the hutching bred. 

An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid. 

To stap or scaur me ; 
Till ane Hornbook's ^ ta'en up the trade. 

An' faith, he'll waur me. 

"Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan, 
Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan ! 
He's grown sae well acquaint wi' Buchan^ 

An' ither chaps, 
The weans haud out their fingers laughin 

And pouk my hips. 

" See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart ; 
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art 

And cursed skill, 
Has made them baith no worth a f — t, 

Damn'd haet they'll kill. 

"*Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 
I threw a noble throw at ane ; 
Wi'less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain: 

But deil -ma-care, 
It just play'd dirl on the bane, 

But did nae mair. 

* An epidemical fever was then raging in that country. R. B. 

* This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is, professionally, a brother of the Sovereign Order 
)f the Ferula, but by intuition and inspiration is at once an apothecary, surgeon, 
tnd physician. R. B. 

* Bucban's Domestic Medicine. E. B. 



76 DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 



" Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
And had sae fortify'd the part, 
That when I looked to my dart. 

It was sae blun 
Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 

O' a kail-runt. 

" I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 
I near-hand cowpit wi' my hurry, 
But yet the bauld Apothecary 

Withstood the shock; 
I might as weel hae try'd a quarry 

O' hard whin rock. 

"E'en them he canna get attended, 
Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it, 
Just sh — in a kail-blade, and send it. 

As soon's he smells't, 
Baith their disease, and what will mend it, 

At once he tells't. 

•' And then, a' doctor's saws and whittles, 
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 

He's sure to hae ; 
Their Latin names as fast ho rattles 

As A B C. 

"Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees; 
True Sal-marinum o' the seas ; 
The Farina of beans and pease, 

He has't in plenty ; 
Aqua-fontis, what you please, 

He can content ye. 

"Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 

Urinus Spiritus of capons ; 

Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 

DistiWd per se; 
Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail clippings, 

And mony mae." 

" Waes me for Johnny Ged's i Hole now," 
Quoth I, "if that thae news be true! 
His braw calf -ward whare gowans grew, 

Sae white and bonie, 
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew ; 

They'll ruin Johnnie ! " 

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, 
Aud §ays, '■ Ye needna yoke the pleugh. 

i Tbe grave-digger. R. B. 



DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. ^J 



Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh, 

Tak ye nae tear; 

They'll a' be trencli'd wi' mony a sheugh 
In twa-tliree year. 

" Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae -death, 
By loss o' blood or want of breath, 
This night I'm free to tak my aith, 

That Hornbook's skill 
Has clad a score i' their last claith, 

By drap and pill. 

"An honest Wabster to his trade, 

Whase wife's twa nieves w^ere scarce well-bred. 

Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 

When it was sair; 
The wife slade cannie to her bed, 

But ne'er spak mair. 

"A countra Laird had ta'en the batts, 
Or some curmurring in his guts, 
His only son for Hornbook sets, 

An' pays him well. 
The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, 

Was Laird himsel. 

"A bonie lass, ye kend her name. 

Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame: 

She trusts hcrsel, to hide the shame. 

In Hornbook's care ; 
Horn sent her aff to her lang hame. 

To hide it there. 

"That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; 
Thus goes he on from day to day. 
Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

An's weel pay'd for't; 
Yet stops me o' my lawf u' prey, 

Wi' his danin'd dirt. 

"But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot, 
Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't; 
rU nail the self -conceited Sot 

As dead's a herrin: 
Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat. 

He gets his fairln 1 " 

But just as he began to tell, 

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 

Some wee, short hour ayont the twal, 

Which rais'd us baith: 
I took the way that pleas'd mysel, 

Ahd sae did De^th. 



78 THE BRIGS OF AYR. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR.^ 

A POEM. 
mSCRIBED TO JOHN BALLANTINE, ESQ., ATB. 

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plow, 

Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ; 

The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush ; 

Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush; 

The soaring lark, the perching red -breast shrill, 

Or deep-ton'd plovers, gray, wild-whistling o'er the hill, 

Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed. 

To hardy independence bravely bred. 

By early poverty to hardship steel'd, 

And train'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field; 

Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes. 

The servile, mercenary Swiss of rliymes ? 

Or labor hard the panegyric close. 

With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose ? 

No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings, 

And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, 

He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 

Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward. 

Still, if some Patron's gen'rous care he trace, 

Skil'd in the secret, to bestow with grace ; 

When Ballantyne befriends his humble name 

And hands the rustic Stranger up to fame. 

With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells 

The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 



'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap. 
And thack and rape secure the toil-won crap ; 
Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
O' coming AVinter's biting, frosty breath ; 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, 
Unnumber'd buds and flow'rs, delicious spoils, _ 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles, 
Are doom'd by Man, that tyrant o'er the weak. 
The death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brimstone reek: 
The thund'ring guns are heard on ev'ry side. 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 

» The occasion of this poem was the erection of a new bridge across the river at 
Ayr, to supersede the inconvenient structure built in the reign of Alexander III. Mr. 
Ballantine, Burns's patron, and chief magistrate of the town, was mainly mstrumental 
in raising funds for the work ; and to him the poem is dedicated. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 79 

(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds, 

And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 

Nae mair the fiow'r in field or meadow springs; 

Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 

Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, 

Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree: 

The hoary morns precede the sunny days, 

Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noontide blaze, 

While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays. 

'Twas in that season ; when a simple Bard, 

Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 

Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr, 

By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care, 

He left his bed and took his wayward rout. 

And down by Simpson's i wheel'd the left about: 

(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 

To witness what I after shall narrate ; 

Or whether, rapt in meditation high, 

He wander'd out he knew not where nor why :) 

The drowsy Dungeon clock had number'd two, 

And Wallace Tow'r had sworn the fact w^as true: 

The tide-swoln Firth, wi' sullen sounding roar, 

Through the still nignt dash'd hoarse along the shore: 

All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e ; 

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree : 

The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 

Crept, gently-crusting, owre the glittering stream. — 

When, lo ! on either hand the list'ning Bard, 
The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard ; 
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 
Swift as the Gos^ drives jnthe wheeling hare; 
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, 
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : 
Our warlock Rhymer instantly clescry'd 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke, 
And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk ; 
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them, 
And ev'n the vera dcils they brawly ken them.) 
Auld Brig appear'd o' ancient Pictish race. 
The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, 
Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. 
New Brig was buskit. in a braw new coat. 
That he, at Lon'on, frae ane Adams got; 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 
Wi' virls an' whirlygigums at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round with anxious search, 
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch ; 
It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e. 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 

» A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end. B. B. * The Gos-hawk or Falcon. R. B. 



8o THE BRIGS OF AYR. 

Wi' thieveless sneer to see Ms modisti mien, 
He, down the water, gies him tliis guid-een : — 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt na, Frien', ye'll thinlc ye're nae sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit owre f rae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho', faith ! that date, 1 doubt, ye'll never see ; 
There'll be, if that day come, I'll wad a boddle, 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. 

NEW BRIG. 

Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense. 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet, 
Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and lime. 
Compare wi' bonie Brigs o' modern time ? 
There's men of taste wou'd tak the Ducat-stream,^ 
Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim. 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
O' sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you, 

AULD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk ! puff'd up wi' windy pride ! 
This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide; 
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, 
I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn ! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter, 
But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 
When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, 
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains; 
When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, 
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil. 
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course 
Or haunted Garpal ^ draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blust'riug winds an' spotting thowes! 
In mony a torrent down his snaw-broo rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring spate, 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; 
And from Glenbuck,^ down to the Ratton-key, 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea; 
Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise ! 
And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies. 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 
That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 

1 A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. R. B. 

» The banks of Garpal water is one of the few places in the west of Scotland where 
those fancy-scaring beings known by the name of Ghaists still continue pertinaciously 
to inhabit. R. B. 

* " Glenbuck," the source of the river Ayr. R. B. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 



NEW BRIG. 

Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say' to't; 
The Lord be thankit that we've tint the gate o't! 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 
Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices; 
O'er arching, moldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs, fantastic, stony gro\es : 
Windows and doors in nameless sculptures drest, 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; 
Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; 
Forms might be worshiped on the bended knee, 
And still the second dread command be free, 
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea. 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited monkish race, 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace, 
Or cuifs of later times, wha held the notion, 
That sullen gloom was sterling, true devotion ; 
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection, 
And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection I 

ATJLD BRIG. 

O ye, my dear remember'd, ancient yealins, 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings 1 
Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, 
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay ; 
Ye dainty Deacons, an' ye douce Conveeners, 
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners 1 
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town ; 
Ye godly Brethren o' the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gie your hurdles to the smiters ; 
And (what would now be strange) ye godly Writers : 
A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo, 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, 
To see each melancholy alteration ; 
And agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base, degen'rate race ! 
Nae langer Rev'rend Men. their country's glory, 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story 
Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce. 
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ; 
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry, 
The herryment and ruin of the country ; 
Men, three-parts made by Tailors and by Barbers, 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on damn'd new Brigs 
and Harbors 1 



82 THE BRIGS OF AYR. 



NEW BRIG. 

Now hand you there ! faith ye've said enough, 
And muckle mair than ye can mak to through : 
As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little, 
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle : 
But, under favor o' your langer beard, 
Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd : 
To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 
In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can have a handle 
To mouth " a Citizen," a term o' scandal : 
Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 
Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops an' raisins. 
Or gather'd lib'ral views in bonds and seisins. 
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 
Had shor'd them wi' a glimmer of his lamp. 
And would to Common-sense for once betray'd them, 
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 

What farther clishmaclaver might been said, 
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, 
No man can tell ; but all before their sight 
A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 
Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd ; 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd 
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : 
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung. 
And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 
O had M'Lauchlan,' thairm -inspiring sage. 
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 
When thro' his dear strathspeys they bore with Highland rage. 
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs. 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; 
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd, 
And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspir'd I 
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, 
While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 
A venerable Chief, advanc'd in years ; 
His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd. 
His manly leg with garter tangle bound. 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring. 
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring ; 
Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, 
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye : 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn. 
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn ; 

> A well-known performer of Scottish music on the violin. R. B. 



THE ORDINATION. 



83 



Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, 

By Hospitality with cloudless brow ; 

Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride. 

From where the Feal ' wild-woody coverts hide ; 

Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 

A female form,* came from the tow'rs of Stair : 

Learning and Worth in equal measures trode 

From simple Catrine,' their long-lov'd abode: 

Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath, 

To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 

The broken, iron instruments of death ; 

At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling "wrath. 



THE ORDINATION.* 



For sense, they little orve to frugal Heav''n— 
To please the mob, they hide the little giv'^n. 



Kilmarnock Wabsters, fidge and 
claw, 

An' pour your creeshie nations ; 
An' ye wha leather rax an' draw. 

Of a' denominations ; 
Swith to the Laigli Kirk, ane an' a,' 

An' there tak up your stations ; 
Then aff to Begbie's in a raw, 

An' pour divine libations 

For joy this day. 

Curst Common-sense, that imp o' 
hell, 

Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder ; ^ 
But Oliphant aft made her yell, 

An' Russel sair misca'd her ; 
This day M'Kinlay takes the flail, 

An' he's the boy will blaud her ! 
He'll clap a shangan on her tail, 

An' set the bairns to daud her 
Wi' dirt this day. 

Mak haste an' turn king David owre. 

An' lilt wi' holy clangor ; 
0* double verse come gie us four. 

An' skirl up the Bangor: 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang 
her, 

* A stream near Coilsfield. 2 Mrs. Stewart of Stair. 

* The seat of Professor Dugald Stewart. 

*"The Ordination" was composed on the Rev. Mr. Mackinlay being called to. 
Kilmarnock. It was first printed in the second edition of the Poems. 

* Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the admission of the late reverend 
and worthy Mr. Lindsay to the Laigh Kirk. R. B. 



For Heresy is in her pow'r. 
And gloriously she'll whang her 
Wi' pith this clay. 

Come, let a proper text be read, 

An' touch it off wi' vigor, 
How graceless Ham leugh at his Dad, 

Which made Canaan a niger 
Or Phincas drove the murdering 
blade, 

Wi' whore -abhorring rigor; 
Or Zipporah, the scauldin jad, 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

I' th' Inn that day. 

There, try his mettle on the creed. 

And bind him down wi' caution, 
That Stipend is a carnal weed 

He takes but for the fashion ; 
An' gie him o'er the flock, to feed. 

And punish each transgression; 
Especial, rams that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin. 

Spare them nae day. 

Now auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail. 

An' toss thy horns fu' canty ; 
Nae mair thou'lt rowte out-owre the 
dale, 



84 



THE ORDINATION. 



Because thy pasture's scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 
An' runts o' grace the pick an' wale, 

No gi'en by way o' dainty, 
But ilka day. 

Nae mair by Babel streams we'll 
weep, 
To think upon our Zion ; 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep. 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin : 
Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' 
cheep, 
And o'er the thairms be tryin ; 
Oh rare ! to see our elbucks Avheep, 
An a' like lamb-tails flyin 

Fu' fast tliis day ! 

Lang, Patronage, wi' rod o' airn, 

Has shor'd the Kirk' s undoin. 
As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn. 

Has proven to his ruin : 
Our Patron, honest man ! Glencairn, 

He saw mischief was brewin ; 
And like a godly, elect bairn. 

He's wal'd us out a true ane. 

And sound this day. 

Now Robinson harangue nae mair. 

But steek your gab forever: 
Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 

For there they'll tliink you clever ; 
Or, nae reflection on your lear, 

Ye may commence a Shaver ; 
Or to the Netherton repair, 

And turn a Carpet-weaver 

Aff-hand this day. 

Mutrie and you were just a match, 

We never had sic twa drones : 
Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk 
watch. 

Just like a winkin baudrons : 
And ay he catch'd the tither wretch, 

To fry them in his caudrons ; 
But now his Honor maun detach, 

Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, 
Fast, fast this day. 



See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 
She's swingein thro' the city ; 
Hark, how the nine-taird cat she 
plays ! 
I vow it's unco pretty ! 
There, Learning, with his Greekish 
face. 
Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
An Common-sense is gaun, she says, 
To mak to Jamie Beattie 

Her plaint this day. 



But there's Morality himsel, 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell, 

Between his twa companions ; 
See, how she peels the skin an' fell, 

As ane were peelin onions ! 
Now there, they're packed aff to hell, 

And banish'd our dominions, 

Henceforth this day. 



O happy day! rejoice, rejoice! 

Come bouse about the porter! 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair find quarter: 
M'Kinlay, Russel are the boys 

That heresy can torture ; 
They 11 gie her on a rape a hoyse, 

And cowe her measure shorter 

By th' head some day. 



Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, 

An here's, for a conclusion, 
To every New Light ^ mother's son, 

From this time forth, Confusion ; 
If mair they deave us wi' their din, 

Or Patronage intrusion, 
We'll light a spunk, and, ev'ry skin, 

We'll rin them aff in fusion 

Like oil, some day. 



» " New Light " is a cant phrase in the 
west of Scotland for those religious opin- 
ions which Dr. Taylor of Norwich has so 
strenuously defended. R. B. 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 



85 



THE CALF.i 

TO THE REV. MR. JAMES STEVENS, ON HIS TEXT, MALACHI, CH. IV. VER. 2. 

" And ye shall go forth, and groiv up as calves of the stall.^'* 



Right, Sir! your text I'll prove it 
true, 

Tlio' Heretics may laugh ; 
For instance there's yoursel just now, 

God knows, an unco Calf! 

And should some Patron be so kind. 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find, 

Ye're still as great a Stirk. 

But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot. 
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly Power, 

You e'er should be a Stot ! 

Tho', when some kind, connubial 
Dear 



Your but-and-ben adorns, 
The like has been that you may wear 
A noble head of horns. 



And, in your lug, most reverend 
James, 
To hear you roar and rowte. 
Few men o' sense will doubt your 
claim 
To rank amang the Nowte. 

And, when ye're number'd wi' the 
dead 
Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' justice they may mark your 
head — 
"Here lies a famous Bullock ! " 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL.2 



O Prince ! O Chief of many throned PowWs, 
That led th^ embattled Seraphim to tear— 

Milton. 



O thou! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie. 

To scaud poor wretches ! 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 



I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, 

Ev'n to a deil, 
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 

An' hear us squeel ! 

Great is thy pow'r,an' great thy fame ; 
Far kend an' noted is thy name ; 
An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame. 
Thou travels far ; 



' With reference to this piece Burns wrote to a correspondent :— " "W^arm recollection 
of an absent friend presses so hard upon my heart, that I send him the prefixed bag- 
atelle, pleased with the thought that it will greet the man of my bosom, and be a 
kind of distant language of friendship. ... It was merely an extemporaneous pro- 
duction, on a wager with Mr. Hamilton that I would not produce a poem on the sub- 
lectin a given time." The Rev. Mr. Stevens was afterwards minister of one of the 
bcotch churches in London— where, in 1790, William Burns, the Poet's brother, heard 

D^^,^®^^^~^"^ '^® finally settled at Kilwinning in Ayrshire, where he died in 1824. 
Gilbert Burns says : " It was, I think, in the winter of 1784, as we were going 
together with carts for coal to the family fire (and I could vet point out the par- 
ticular spot), that the author first repeated to me the " Address to the Deil." The 
curious idea of such an address was suggested to him by turning over in his mind 
the many ludicrous accounts and representations we have from various quarters of 
this august personage." 



Z6 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 



An' faith ! tliou's neither lag nor lame, 
Nor blate nor scaur. 

Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion 
For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
Whyles on the strong wing'd Tem- 
pest flyin, 

Tirlin the kirks ; 
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin. 

Unseen thou lurks. 

I've heard my reverend Grannie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
Or where auld, ruin'd castles, gray. 

Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, 

Wi' eldritch croon. 

When twilight did my Grannie sum- 
mon. 
To say her pray'rs, douce, honest 

woman ! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you 
bummin, 

Wi' eerie drone ; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortrees comin, 
Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night. 
The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, 
Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright, 

Ayont the lough ; 
Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sugh. 

The cudgel in my nieve did shake. 
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, 
When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick, 
quaick, 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter'd like a drake, 

On whistling wings. 

Let warlocks grim, an' wither'd hags. 
Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags, 
They skim the muirs, an' dizzy crags, 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their 
leagues, 

Owre howkit dead. 

Thence, countra wives, wi' toil an' 

pain. 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in 

vain; 



For, oh ! the yellow treasure's taen 
By witching skill ; 

An' dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie's gaen 
As yell's the Bill. 

Thence, mystic knots mak great 

abuse. 
On young Guidmen, fond, keen, an 

crouse ; 
When the best wark-lume i' the house. 

By cantrip wit. 
Is instant made no worth a louse. 
Just at the bit. 

When thowes dissolve the snawy 

lioord. 
An' float the jinglin icy-boord, 
Then, Water-kelpies haunt the f oord, 

By your direction, 
An' nighted Trav'lers are allur'd 
To their destruction. 

An' aft your moss-traversing Spimk- 

ies 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk 

is: 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous mon- 
kies 

Delude his eyes. 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 
Ne'er mair to rise. 

When Masons' mystic word an' grip. 
In storms an' tempests raise you up. 
Some cock or cat your rage maun 
stop, 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest Brother ye wad whip 

Aff straught to hell. 

Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were 

pair'd. 
An' all the soul of love they shar'd, 

The raptur'd hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird, 
li^ shady bow'rt 

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing 

dog! 
Ye came to Paradise incog. 
An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be you fa !) 
An' gied the infant war Id a shog, 

'Maist ruin'd a'. 



DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE. 



87 



D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, 
Wi' reckit duds, an' reestit gizz, 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz, 

'Mang better folk, 
An' sklented on the man of Uzz 

Your spitefu' joke! 

An' how ye gat him i' j^our thrall, 
An brak him out o' house an' hall, 
While scabs an' blotches did him gall 

Wi' bitter claw, 
An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd, wicked 
Scawl, 

Was warst ava ? 

But a' your doings to rehearse. 
Your wily snares an' fetchin fierce, 
Sin' that day Michael^ did you pierce, 
Down to this time, 



Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, 
In prose or rhyme. 

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're 

thinkin, 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, 
Some luckless hour will send him 
linkin. 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin, 
An' cheat you yet. 

But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben! 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 
Y^'e aiblins might — I dinna ken — 

Still liae a stake — 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 

Ev'n for your sake I 



THE DEATH AND DYEING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE, THE 
AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE.2 

AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE. 



As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, 
Was ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch. 
An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch ; 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie. 
When Hughoc he cam doytin by. 

Wi' glowrin een, an lifted ban's. 
Poor Hughoc like a statue Stan's; 
He saw her days were near hand 

ended, 
But, waes my heart! he could na 

mend it ! 
He gaped wide, but naething spak. 
At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

" O thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my wof u' case ! 



My dying words attentive hear, 
An' bear them to my Master dear. 
"Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O, bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair! 
But ca' them out to park or hill. 
An' let them wander at their will ; 
So may his flock increase, an' grow 
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' 

woo' ! 
" Tell him, he was a Master kin', 
An' ay was guid to me an' mine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him. 
My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' 

him. 



1 Vide Milton, Book vi. R. B. 

2 This was one of Burns's earliest poems, the first indication of that peculiar moral 
humor of which the " Twa Dogs" is the finest example. It was written before 1784, 
and Gilbert Burns informed Dr. CuiTie that " the circumstances of the poor slieep were 
pretty much as he has described them : he had, partly by way of frolic, bought a 
ewe and two lambs from a neighbor, and she was tetliered in a field adjoining the house 
at Lochlea. He and I were going out with our teams, and our two younger brothers 
to drive for us, at midday, when Hugh Wilson, a curious-looking, awkward lad. clad 
in plaiding, came to us with much anxiety in his face, with the information that the 
ewe had entangled herself in the tether, and was lying in the ditch. Robert was much 
tickled with Hughoc's appearance and postures on the occasion. Poor Mailie was set 
to rights, and when we returned from the plow in the evening he repeated to me her 
* Death and Djing Words' pretty much in the way they now stand." 



88 



DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE. 



" O, bid him save their harmless 

lives, 
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' 

knives ! 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, 
Till they be fit to fend themsel : 
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 
Wi teats o' hay an' ripps o' corn. 
"An' may they never learn the 

gaets 
Of ither vile wanrestf u' pets ! 
To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' 

steal, 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great For- 
bears, 
For monie a year come thro' the 

sheers ; 
So wives will gie them bits o' bread. 
An' bairns greet for them when 

they're dead. 
"My poor toop-lamb, my son an' 

heir, 
O, bid liim breed him up wi' care ! 
An', jf he live to be a beast. 
To pit some havins in his breast ! 



An' warn him, what I winna name. 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame; 
An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, 
Like ither menseless, graceless 

brutes. 
" An' niest my yowie, silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string ! 
O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop ; 
But ay keep mind to moop an' mell, 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! 
"And now, my bairns, wi" my last 

breath 
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith : 
An' when you think upo' your 

Mither, 
Mind to be kind to ane anither. 

"Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail, 
To tell my Master a' my tale ; 
An' bid him burn this cursed tether. 
An', for thy pains, thou'se get my 

blether." 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her 
head. 
An' clos'd her een amang the dead ! 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 



Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your 

nose; 
Our Bardie's fate is at a close, 

Past a' remead ; 
The last, sad cape-stane of his woes; 

Poor Mailie 's dead ! 

It's no the loss o' warl's gear. 
That could sae bitter draw the tear. 
Or mak our Bardie, dowie, wear 

The mourning weed : 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear, 

In Mailie dead. 

Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him ; 
A lang half-mile she could descry 

him; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy 
him, 

She ran wi' speed : 
A friend mair faithf u' ne'er cam nigh 
him, 

Thap. Mailie d§ad. 



I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
An' could behave hersel wi' mense ; 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence, 

Thro' thievish greed. 
Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the spence 

Sin' Mailie's dead. 



Or, if he wanders up the howe, 
Her living image in her yowe 
Comes bleating to him, owre the 
knowe. 

For bits o' bread ; 
An' down the briny pearls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 



She was nae get o' moorland tips, 
Wi' tawted ket, an' hairy hips. 
For her forbears were brought lu 
ships, 

Frae yont the Tweed : 
A bonnier fleesh ne'er cross'd the 
clips 

Than Mailie's d§ad. 



TO JAMES SMITH. 



89 



Wae worth the man wha first did 

shape 
That vile, wanchancie thing — a rape ! 
It maks guid fellows grin an' gape, 

Wi' chokin dread ; 
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 

For Mailie dead. 



O, a' ye Bards on bonnie Doon ! 
An' wha on Ayr your chanters 

tune ! 
Come, join the melancholious croon 

O' Robin's reed ! 
His heart will never get aboon ! 

His Mailie's dead ! 



TO JAMES SMITH.i 



Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul . 
Sweetener of Life, and solder of Society ! 
I owe thee much. Blair. 



Dear Smith, thesleeest, paukie thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef 

Owre human hearts ; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 

Against j^our arts. 

For me, I swear by sun an' moon, 
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

Just gaun to see you ; 
And ev'ry ither pair that's done, 

Mair taen I'm wi' you. 

That auld, capricious carlln, Nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit stature, 
She's turn'd you aff, a human crea- 
ture 

On her first plan, 
And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, 

She's wrote, ' ' The Man. " 

Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme. 
My barmie noddle's working prime, 
My fancie yerkit up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon : 
Hae ye a leisure-moment's time 

To hear what's comin ? 

Some rhyme, a neebor's name to lash ; 
Some rhyme (vain thought!) for 

needf u' cash ; 
Some rhyme to court the contra clash. 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an ai7n I never fash ; 

I rhyme for fun. 



The star that rules my luckless lot, 

Has fated me the russet coat, 

An' damn'd my fortune to the groat ; 

But, in requit. 
Has blest me with a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This while my notion's taen a sklent. 
To try my fate in guid, black prent; 
But still the mair I'm that way bent, 

Something cries, ' ' Hoolie ! 
I red you, honest man, tak tent ! 

Ye'll shaw j^our folly. 

"There's ither poets, much your 

betters, 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
Hae thought they had ensured their 
debtors, 

A' future ages ; 
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters 
Their unknown pages." 

Then farewell hopes o' laurel boughs, 
To garland my poetic brows! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy 
ploughs 

Are whistling tlirang, 
An' teach the lanely heightsan' howes 

My rustic sang. 

I'll wander on, wi' tentless heed 
How never-halting moments speed. 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown, 
I'D \ay me with th' inglorious dead. 

Forgot and gone ! 



I * Mr. James Smith was, when this epistle was written, a shopkeeper in Mauchlinet 
I He afterwards removed to Avon near Linlithgow, where he established a calico-print- 
I mg manufactory. Being unsuccessful in his speculations, he emigrated to the West 
Indies, where he died. 



90 



TO JAMES SMITH. 



But why o' Death begin a tale ? 
Just now we're living sound an' hale ; 
Then top and maintop crowd the sail, 

Heave Care o'er side ! 
And large, before Enjoyment's gale. 

Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand, 

Is a' enchanted fairy -land. 

Where pleasure is the magic wand. 

That, wielded right, 
Maks hours like minutes, hand in 
hand 
Dance by f u' light. 

The magic wand then let us wield : 
For, ance that five-an'-forty's speel'd, 
See, crazy, weary, joyless Eild, 

Wi' wriukf d face, 
Comes hoistin, hirplin owre the field, 

Wi' creepin pace. 

When ance life's day draws near the 

gloamin, 
Then fareweel vacant carelessroamin ; 
An' fareweel cheerf u' tankards foam- 
in. 

An' social noise ; 
An' fareweel dear deluding woman. 
The joy of joys! 

O life ! how pleasant in thy morning, 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorn- 
ing ! 
Cold- pausing Caution's lesson scorn- 
ing, 

We frisk away, 
Like schoolboys, at th' expected 
warning, 

To joy and play. 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 
Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

Among the leaves : 
And tho' the puny wound appear. 

Short while it grieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, 
For which they never toil'd nor swat ; 
They drink the sweet and eat the fat, 

But care or pain ; 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 



With steady aim, some Fortune 

chase ; 
Keen hope does ev'ry sinew brace ; 
Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the 
race, 

And seize the prey ; 
Then cannie, in some cozie place, 
They close the day. 

And others, like your humble servan', 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads ob- 

servin. 
To right or left, eternal swervin, 

They zig-zag on ; 
Till curst with age, obscure an' 
starvin, 

They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — 
But truce wi' peevish, poor complain- 
ing! 
Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning ? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remain- 
ing, 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I here fling to the door, 
And kneel, " Ye Pow'rs ! " and warn, 

implore, 
" Tho' I should wander Terra o'er, 

In all her climes. 
Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

Ay rowth o' rhymes. 

' ' Gie dreeping roasts to countra 

Lairds, 
Till icicles hing f rae their beards ; 
Gie fine braw claes to fine Life- 
guards, 

And Maids of Honor: 
And yill an' whisky gie to Cairds, 
Until they sconner. 

" A Title, Dempster! merits it; 

A Garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 

Gie Wealth to same be-ledger'd Cit, 

In cent per cent ; 
But gie me real, sterling Wit, 

And I'm content. 

"While Ye are pleased to keep me 

hale 
111 sit down o'er my scanty meal, 

^ George Dempster, Esq. of Dunnichen 



A DREAM. 



91 



Be't water-brose, or muslin kail, 
Wi' cheerfu' face, 

As lang's the Muses dinna fail 
To say the grace." 

An anxious e'e I never throws 
Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 
I jouk beneath Misfortune's blows 

As weel's I may ; 
Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose, 

I rhyme away, 

O ye douce folk, that live by rule, 
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm, and 

cool, 
Compar'd wi' you — O fool! fool! 
fool! 

How much unlike ! 
Your hearts are just a standing pool, 
Your lives, a dyke ! 



Nae hair-brain'd sentimental traces, 
In your unletter'd, nameless faces! 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray, 
But gravissimo, solemn basses 

Ye hum away. 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're 

wise; 
Nae ferly tho' ye do despise 
The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys. 

The rattlin squad : 
I see you upward cast your eyes — 

Ye ken the road. — 

Whilst I — but I shall baud me there — 
Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where — 
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 

But quat my sang, 
Content with You to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 



A DREAM. 1 

Thoughts, words, and deeds, the Statute blames tvith reason ; 
But surely Dreams ivere ne'er indicted Treason. 

[On reading, in the public papers, the Laureate's Ode, with the other parade of June4, 
1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to 
the Birthday Levee ; and, in his dreaming fancy, made the following Address.] 



GuiD-MoRNiN to your Majesty ! 

May heaven augment your blisses. 
On ev'ry new Birthday ye see ; 

A humble Bardie wishes ! 
My Bardship here, at your Levee, 

On sic a day as this is, 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 

Amang thae Birthday dresses 
Sae fine this day. 

\ I see ye're complimented thrang, 
By mony a lord an' lady ; 
'' God save the King ! " 's a cuckoo 

sang 
That's unco easy said ay ; 
I The Poets, too, a venal gang, 
I ^_W'i' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready. 
Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, 
But ay unerring steady. 
On sic a day. 

* Certain of Burns's friends— Mrs. Dunlop, and Mrs. Stewart of Stair— considered 
he "Dream'' to contain perilous stuff. These ladies, it is said, vainly solicited the 
*oet to omit it in the second edition of his poems. The " Dream," if not a high, is a 
«ry characteristic effort : there never was an easier hand-gallop of verse. 

' An allusion to the loss of the North American colonies. 

1 



For me ! before a Monarch's face, 

Ev'n tJiet'e I winna flatter ; 
For neither pension, post, nor place, 

Am I your humble debtor : 
So, nae reflection on Your Grace, 

Your Kingship to bespatter; 
There's monie waur been o' the Race, 

And aiblins ane been better 
Than You this day. 

'Tis ver}'^ true, my sovereign King, 

My skill may weel be doubted : 
But Facts are chiels that winna ding, 

An' downa be disputed : 
Your Royal nest, beneath your wing, 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted, 
And now the third part of the 
string, 2 

An' less, will gang about it 
Than did ae day. 



92 



A DREAM. 



Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame your legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, 

To rule this mighty nation ; 
But, faith! I muckle doubt, my 
Sire, 

Ye've trusted Ministration 
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, 

Wad better fill'd their station 
Than courts yon day. 

And now ye've gien auld Britain 
peace 

Her broken shins to plaister ; 
Your sair taxation does her fleece 

Till she has scarce a tester ; 
For me, thank God, my life's a lease 

Nae bargain wearing faster, 
Or, faith ! I fear that with the geese, 

I shortly boost to pasture 

I' the craft some day. 

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges. 
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get, 

A name not envy spairges,) 
That he intends to pay your debt. 

An' lessen a' your charges ; 
But, God's sake! letnae saving-fit 

Abridge your bonnie barges ^ 
An' boats this day. 

Adieu, my Liege! may freedom 
geek 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may Ye rax Corruption's neck. 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect. 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen, with due respect. 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great Birthday. 

Hail, Majesty most Excellent! 

While nobles strive to please Ye, 
Will Ye accept a compliment 

A simple Poet gies Ye ? 



1 "■ On the supplies for the Navy being 
voted, Spring 1786, Captain Macbride coun- 
seled some changes in that force, partic- 
ularly the giving up of sixty-four gun- 
ships, which occasioned a good deal or 
discussion." Chambers. 



Thae bonny bairntime, Heav'n has 
lent. 
Still higher may they heeze Ye 
In bliss, till Fate some day is sent, 
For ever to release Ye 

Frae care that day. 

For j'-ou, young Potentate o' Wales, 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling 
sails 
I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; 
But some day ye may gnaw your 
nails. 
An curse your folly sairly. 
That ere ye brak Diana's pales. 
Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie, i 
By night or day. 

Yet aft a ragged cowte'sbeen known 

To mak a noble aiver ; 
Sae, ye may doucely fill a Throne, 

For a' their clish-ma-claver : 
There, Him at Agincourt wha shone, 

Few better were or braver ; 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John, 

He was an unco shaver 

For monie a day. 

For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg,^ 

Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
Altho' a ribban at your lug 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughty dog 

That bears the Keys of Peter, 
Then, swith ! an' get a wife to hug, 

Or, troth ! ye'll stain the Mitre 
Some luckless day. 

Young, royal Tarry Breeks,^ I learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her ; 
A glorious galley, stem and stern,* 

Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter ; 
But first hang out, that she'll discern 

Your hymeneal charter. 
Then heave aboard your grapple airn, 

An, large upon her quarter. 
Come full that day. 

^ Charles James Fox 

2 Frederick, Bishop of Osnaburg, after- 
wards Duke of York. 

3 William, afterwards Duke of Clarence, 
and King William IV. 

* Alluding to the newspaper account ot 
a certain royal sailor's amour. R. B. 



THE VISION. 



93 



Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a', 

Ye royal Lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak 3^ou guid asweel as braw. 

An' gie you lads a-plenty : 
But sneer na British bo3's awa', 

For Kings are unco scant ay ; 
An' German Gentles are but sma'. 

They're better just than Want ay 
On onie day. 



God bless you a' ! consider now 

Ye're unco muckle dautet ; 
But, e'er the course o' life be through, 

It may be bitter sautet : 
An' I hae seen their coggie fou. 

That yet hae tarrow't at it; 
But or the day was done, I trow, 

The laggen they hae clautet 
Fu' clean that day. 



THEi VISION. 

DUAN FIRST. 



The sun had clos'd the winter day, 
The Curlers quat their roarin play, 
An' hunger'd Maukin taen her way 

To kail-yards green. 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Whare she has been. 

The threshers weary flingin-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
And whan the day had clos'd his e*e, 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the Spence, right pensivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek. 
That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking 
smeek, 

The auld clay biggin ; 
An' heard the restless rattons squeak 

About the riggin. 

All in tliis mottle, misty clime, 

I backward mus'd on wasted time, 

How I had spent my youthf u' prime, 

An' done nae-thing, 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme, 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market. 
Or strutted in a bank, and clarkit 

My cash account : 
While here, half -mad, half -fed, half- 
sarkit. 

Is a' th' amount. 



I started, mutt'ring, blockhead ! coof ! 
And heav'd on high my waukit loof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rash aith. 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme 
proof 

Till my last breath — 

When click ! the string the snick did 

draw; 
And jee! the door gaed to the wa'; ' 
And by my ingle-lowe I saw. 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw, 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; 
The infant aith, half-formed, was 

crush t ; 
I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest worth, she 
blusht. 

And stepped ben. 

Green, slender, leaf -clad holly-boughs 
Were twisted, gracefu', round her 

brows, 
I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token ; 
And come to stop these reckless vows, 
Would soon been broken. 

A " hair-brain'd, sentimental trace," 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her; 



^ Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressive poem See 
his " Catb-Lod^i," vol. ii. of JlcPherson's translation. R. B. 



94 



THE VISION. 



Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 
Beamed keen with Honor. 

Down liow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg ! my bonnie Jean ^ 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and 
clean, 

Nane else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue. 
My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 
Deep lights and shades, bold-min- 
gling threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And seem'd, to my astonish'd view 

A well known Land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the skies were 

tost: 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the 
coast 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone Art's lofty boast. 
The lordly dome. 

Here, Doon pour'd down his far- 

fetch'd floods; 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds, 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his 
woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, 
With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 

An ancient Borough rear'd her head; 

Still, as in Scottish story lead, 

She boasts a Race, 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred. 

And polish'd grace. 

1 This line supplies a curious instance of 
the fluctuations of Burns's mind and pas- 
sion. It was originally written as it stands 
in the text, but in the bitter feeling in- 
duced by the destruction of the marriage 
lines he had given to Jean Armour he 
transferred the compliment to the reign- 
ing favorite of the hour. In the first edi- 
tion the line stood— 

And such a leg ! my Bess, I ween. 
In the Edinburgh edition, the old affection 
being in the ascendant again, the line was 
restored to its original shape. 

2 This and the six following stanzas ap- 



By stately tow'r or palace fair, 

Or ruins pendent in the air, 

Bold stems of Heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd 
to dare. 

With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel, 
To see a Race i heroic wheel, 
And brandish round the deep-dy'd 
steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their Suthron foes. 

His Country's Saviour, ^ mark him 

well ! 
Bold Richardton's ^ heroic swell ; 
The Chief * on Sark w^ho glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
And He whom ruthless fates expel 
His native land. 

There, where a scepter'd Pictish shade 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid,* 
I mark'd a martial Race, portray'd 

In colors strong ; 
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd 

They strode along. 

Thro' many a wild, romantic grove, ^ 
Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove, 

peared for the first time in the second 
edition. 

1 The Wallaces. R. B. 

« William Wallace. R. B. 

* Adam Wallace of Richard ton, cousin of 
the immortal preserver of Scottish inde- 
pendence. R. B. 

* Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who w^as 
second in command, under Douglas, Earl 
of Ormund, at the famous battle on the 
banks of the Sark, fouglit anno 1448. That 
glorious victory was principally owing to 
the judicious conduct and intrepid valor 
of the gallant Laird of Craigie, wdio died 
of his wounds after the action. R. B. 

^ Coilus, King of the Picts, from whom 
the district of Kyle is said to take its name, 
lies buried, as tradition says, near the 
family seat of the Montgomeries of Coils- 
field, where his burialplace is still shown. 
R. B. 

^ Barskimming, the seat of the Lord 
Justice Clerk. R. B. (Sir Thomas Miller 
of Glenlee, afterwards President of the 
Court of Session). 



THE VISION. 



95 



(Fit haunts for Friendship or for 
Love 

In musing mood,) 
An aged Judge, I saw him rove, 

Dispensing good. 

With deep-struck reverential awe 
The learned Sire and Son I saw,^ 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 
They gave their lore : 



This, all its source and end to draw ; 
That, to adore. 

Brydon's brave Ward I well could 

spy, 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; 
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by, 

To hand him on, 
Where many a Patriot name on high. 

And Hero shone. 



DUAN SECOND. 



With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heavenly-seeming Fair; 
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear. 

Of kindred sweet. 
When with an elder Sister's air 

She did me greet. 

" All hail ! my own inspired Bard ! 
In me thy native Muse regard ! 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

Thus poorly low ! 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

"Know, the great Genius of this land 
Has many a light, aerial band. 
Who, all beneath his high command. 

Harmoniously, 
As Arts or Arms they understand. 

Their labors ply. 

" They Scotia's Race among them 

share 
Some fire the Soldier on to dare ; 
Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart: 
Some teach the Bard, a darling care. 

The tuneful art. 

'"Mong swelling floods of reeking 

gore. 
They, ardent, kindling spirits pour; 
Or, 'mid the venal Senate's roar, 

They, sightless, stand, 
To mend the honest Patriot lore, 

And grace the hand, 

1 Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor, and 
present Professor, Stewart. R. B. 



" And when the Bard, or hoary Sage, 
Charm or instruct the future age. 
They bind the wild, Poetic rage 

In energy. 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 

"Henc&, FuUarton,! the brave and 

young ; 
Hence, Dempster's zeal - inspired 

tongue ; 
Hence, sweet harmonious Beattie 
sung 

His ' Minstrel lays ' ; 
Or tore, with noble ardor stung, 
The Skeptic's bays. 

"To lower orders are assign'd 
The humbler ranks of human-kind. 
The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind, 

The Artisan ; 
All choose, as various they're inclin'd, 

The various man. 

"When yellow waves the heavy 

grain. 
The threat'niug storm some strongly 

rein; 
Some teach to meliorate the plain 

With tillage-skill; 
And some instruct the Shepherd- 
train, 

Blythe o'er the hill. 

"Some hint the Lover's harmless 

wile ; 
Some grace the Maiden's artless 

smile ; 

1 Colonel Fullarton. R. B. 



96 



THE VISION. 



Some soothe the Lab'rer's weary toil, 
For humble gains, 

And make his cottage-scenes beguile 
His cares and pains. 

"Some, bounded to a district-space, 
Explore at large Man's infant race. 
To mark the embryotic trace 

Of rustic Bard ; 
And careful note each op'ning grace, 

A guide and guard. 

**.0f these am I — Coila my name; 
And this district as mine I claim, 
Where once the Campbells, chiefs of 
fame, 

Held ruling pow'r : 
I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame. 

Thy natal hour. 

"With future hope, I oft would 

gaze. 
Fond, on thy little early ways. 
Thy rudely-caroll'd, chiming phrase, 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fir'd at the simple, artless lays. 

Of other times. 



"I saw thee seek the sounding shore. 
Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
Or when the North his fleecy store 

Drove thro' the sky, 
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar 

Struck thy young eye. 

"Or when the deep green-mantl'd 

Earth 
Warm - cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's 

birth, 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In ev'ry grove, 
I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 
With boundless love. 

"When ripen'd fields, and azure 

skies, 
Call'd forth the Reaper's rustling 

noise, 
i saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 

And lonely stalk, 
To vent thy besom's swelling rise 
In pensive walk. 



"When youthful Love, warm-blush- 
ing strong, 
Keen - shivering shot thy nerves 

along, 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored Name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song, 
To soothe thy flame. 

"I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 
Wild send thee Pleasure's devious 

way, 
Misled by Fancy's meteor ray. 

By Passion driven; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from Heaven. 

"I taught thy manners- painting 

strains, 
The loves, the ways of simple swains. 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends; 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 
Become thy friends. 

"Thou canst not learn, nor can I 

show. 
To paint with Thomson's landscape- 
glow; 
Or wake the bosom -melting throe, 
With Shenstone's art; 
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 
Warm on the heart. 

" Yet, all beneath th' unrivall'd rose. 
The lowly daisy sweetly blows; 
Tho' large the forest's monarch 
throws 

His army shade, 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 
Adown* the glade. 

" Then never murmur nor repine; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; 
And trust me, not Potosi's mine, 

Nor King's regard, 
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 

A rustic Bard. 

" To give my counsels all in one, 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan; 
Preserve the dignity of Man, 

With Soul erect; 
And trust, the Universal Plan 

Will all protect. 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID. 



97 



"And wear thou this " — she solemn 

said, 
And bound the Holly round my 

head. 



The polish'd leaves, and berries red. 
Did rustling play ; 

And, like a passing thought, she fled 
In light away. 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 

My son, these maxims make a rule. 

And him}) them aye thegither; 
The Rigid Righteous is a fool, 

The Rigid Wise anither : 
Tlie cleanest corn that e'er was dight. 

May hae some pyles o' caff in ; 
So ne'er a fellotv-creature slight 

For random fits o' daffin. 

Solomon.— Eccles. vii. 16. 



O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye've naught to do but mark and tell 

Your Neebor's fauts and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill. 

Supply 'd wi' store o' water. 
The heapet happer's ebbing still. 

And still the clap plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venei'able Core, 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's 
door. 

For glaikit Folly's portals; 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes. 

Would here propone defences. 
Their donsie tricks, their black mis- 
takes, 

Their failings and mischances. 



Ye see 



state wi' theirs com- 



your 
par'd. 
And shudder at the niffer, 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 
What maks the mighty differ ; 
Discount what scant occasion gave 

That purity ye pride in, 
And (what's"^ aft mair than a' the 
lave). 
Your better art o' hiding. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop. 
What raging must his veins convulse 

That still eternal gallop : 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way ; 
But in tlie teeth o' baith to sail, 

It makes an unco leeway. 

7 



See Social life and Glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking, 
Till, quite transmugrify'd," they're 
grown 

Debauchery and Drinking : 
O would they stay to calculate 

Th' eternal consequences; 
Or your more dreaded hell to state, 

Damnation of expenses ! 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous Dames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces. 
Before you gie poor Frailty names, 

Suppose a change o' cases; 
A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination — 
But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye're aiblins nae temptation. 

Then gently scan j-our brother Man, 

Still gentler sister Woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly 
dark, 

The moving W7ii/ they do it; 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it. 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord its various 
tone. 

Each spring its various bias : 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it; 
What's done we partly may compute. 

But know not what's resisted. 



98 



TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY. 



TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY. ^ 
An honest man'^s the noblest work of God. — Pope. 



Has auld Kilmarnock seen tlie Deil ? 
Or great M'Kinlay thrawn his heel ? 
Or Robinson again grown weel, 

To preach an' read ? 
•* Na, waur than a' ! " cries ilka chiel, 

" Tarn Samson's dead! " 

Kilmarnock lang may grunt an 

grane, 
An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane. 
An' deed her bairns, man, wife, an' 
wean, 

In mourning weed ; 
To Death, she's dearly paid the kane, 
Tam Samson's dead ! 

The Brethren o' the mystic level 
May hing their head in wof u' bevel, 
While by their nose the tears will 
revel, 

Like ony bead ; 
Death's gien the Lodge an unco 
devel, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

When Winter muffles up his cloak, 
And binds the mire like a rock ; 
When to the loughs the Curlers flock 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock, 

Tam Samson's dead ? 

He was the king o' a' the Core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore. 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar 

In time o' need ; 
But now he lags on Death's hog-score, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Now safe the stately Sawmont sail, 
And Trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson 

hail. 
And Eels weel kend for souple tail. 

And Geds for greed. 
Since dark in Death's fish-creel we 
wail 

Tam Samson dead ! 

^ When this worthy old sportsman went out last muir-fowl season, he supposed it 
was to be, in Ossian's phrase, "the last of his fields," and expressed an ardent de- 
sire to die and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the author composed his 
Elegy and Epitaph. R. B. 



Rejoice, ye birring Paitricks a' ; 
Ye cootie Moorcocks, crousely craw ; 
Ye Maukins, cock your f ud f u' braw, 

Withouten dread ; 
Your mortal Fae is now awa', 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd 
Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd. 
While pointers round impatient 
burn'd, 

Frae couples freed ; 
But, Och! he gaed and ne'er re- 
turn'd ! 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

In vain auld age his body batters ; 
In vain the gout his ancles fetters ; 
In vain the burns came down like 
waters, 

An acre braid ! 
Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clat- 
ters, 

' ' Tam Samson's dead ! " 

Owre mony a weary hag he limpit, 
An' ay the tither shot he thumpit. 
Till coward Death behind him jumpit 

Wi' deadly f eide ; 
Now he proclaims, wi'touto' trumpet, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed ; 
"Lord, five ! " he cry'd, an' owre did 
stagger ; 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither; 
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a 

father : 
Yon auld gray stane, amang the 

heather, 

Marks out his head. 



HALLOWEEN. 



99 



Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming 
blether, 

"Tarn Samson's dead ! " 

There, low he lies, in lasting rest ; 
Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast 
Some spitef u' muirfowl bigs her nest. 

To hatch and breed ; 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When August winds the heather 

wave 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
Three volleys let his mem'ry crave 

O' pouther an' lead. 
Till Echo answer frae her cave, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Heav'n rest his saul, whare'er he be ! 
Is th' wish o' mony mae than me : 



He had twa faults, or maybe three, 
Yet what remead ? 

Ae social, honest man want we : 
Tam Samson's dead ! 

THE EPITAPH. 

Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here 
lies, 

Ye canting zealots, spare him! 
If honest worth in heaven rise, 

Ye'll mend or ye win near him. 

PER CONTRA. 

Go, Fame, an' canter like a filly 
Thro' a' the streets an' ueuks o' Killie, 
Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin, 
For yet, unskaith'd by Death's gleg 
guUie, 

Tam Samson's livin ! 



HALLOWEEN. 1 

The following Poem will by many readers be well enough understood ; but for the 
sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country 
where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account of the principal charms 
and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. 
The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nat- 
ure, in its rude state, in all ages and nations ; and it may be some entertainment to a 
philosophic mind if any such should honor the Author with a perusal, to see the remains 
of it, among the more unenlightened in our own. R. B.] 

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
The simple pleasures of the lowly train ; 
To me more dear, congenial to vii/ heart. 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 

Goldsmith. • 



Upon that night, when Fairies light 

On Cassilis Downaus ^ dance, 
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze. 

On sprightly coursers prance ; 
Or for Colean the rout is ta'en. 

Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
There, up the Cove,^ to stra}^ an' rove 

Amang the rocks and streams 
To sport that night ; 



Amang the bounie, winding banks. 
Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear. 
Where Bruce ^ ance rul'd the martial 
ranks, 
An' shook his Carrick spear. 
Some merry, Iriendly, countra folks, 

Together did convene. 
To burn their nits, an' pou their 
stocks. 



* Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other mischief -making beings are 
all abroad on their baneful midnight errands ; particularly those aerial people, the 
fairies, are said on that night to hold a grand anniversary. R. B. 

^ Certain little, romantic, rocky green hills, in the neighborhood of the ancient seat 
of the Earls of Cassilis. R. B. 

^ A noted cavern near Colean-house. called the Cove of Colean : which, as Avell as 
Cassilis Downans, is famed in coimtry story for being a favorite haunt of fairies. R. B. 

* The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the great deliverer of his 
country, were Earls of Carrick. R. B. 

L.ufC. 



100 



HALLOWEEN. 



An' baud their Halloween 

Fu' blythe that night. 

The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine ; 
Their faces blythe, f u' sweetly kythe, 

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin': 
The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs, 

Weel knotted on their garten. 
Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs. 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin 
Whyles fast at night. 

Then, first an' foremost, thro' the kail, 
Their stocks ^ maun a' be sought 
ance: 
They steek their een, an' grape, an' 
wale, 
For muckle anes, an' straught anes. 
Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift. 
An' wander'd thro' the Bow-kail, 
An' pou't, for want o' better shift, 
A runt was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't that night. 

Then, straught or crooked, yird or 
nane. 
They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ; 
The vera wee things, toddlin, rin, 
Wi' stocks out-owre their shou- 
tlier ; 
An' gif the custocks sweet or sour, 

Wi' joctelegs they taste them; 
Syne coziely, aboon the door, 
Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd 
them 

To lie that night. 

The lasses staw frae 'mang them a' 
To pou their stalks o' corn ; ^ 



But Kab slips out, an' jinks about, 
Behint the muckle thorn : 

He grip pet Nelly hard an' fast ; 
Loud skirl'd a' the lasses ; 

But her tap-pickle maist was lost. 
When kiutlin i' the fause-house '^ 
Wi' him that night. 

The auld guidwife's weel-hoordit 
nits^ 

Are round an' round divided. 
An' monie lads' and lasses' fates 

Are there that night decided : 
Some kindle, couthie, side by side, 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa' wi' saucy pride, 

An' jump out-owre the chimlie 
Fu' high that night. 

Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e ; 

Wlia 'twas, she wadna tell ; 
But this is Jock, and this is me, 

She says in to hersel : 
He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre 
him, 

As they wad never mair part ; 
Till f uff ! he started up the lum, 

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 
To see't that night. 

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, 

Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie, 
An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, 

To be compar'd to Willie : 
Mall's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling, 

An' her ain fit it brunt it ; 
While Willie lap, an' swoor by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 
To be that night. 



1 The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling each a stock, or plant of kail. They 
must go out hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet with. Its being 
big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object 
of all their spells— the husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick to the root, that is 
tocher, or fortune ; and the taste of the custock, that is the heart of the stem, is indica- 
tive of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or to give them their 
ordinary appellation, the runts, are placed somewhere above the head of the door ; 
and the Christian names of the people whom chance brings into the house are, accord- 
ing to the priority of placing the runts, the names in question. R. B. 

* They go to the barn-yard and pull each, at three different times, a stalk of oats. If 
the third stalk wants the tap-pickle, that is, the gi-ain at the top of the stalk, the party 
in question will come to the marriage-bed anything but a maid. R. B. 

2 When the corn is in a doubtful state, it being too green, or wet, the stack-builder, by 
means of old timber, etc., makes a large apartment, in his stack, with an opening in the 
side which is fairest exposed to the wind: this he calls a Fcf use-house. R. B. 

* Burning the nuts is a famous charm. They name the lad and the lass to each par- 
ticular nut, as they lay them in the fire; and accordingly as they burn quietly together, 
or start from beside one another, the course and issue of the courtship will be. R. B. 



HALLOWEEN. 



lO] 



Nell had the fause -house in her min' 

She pits hersel an' Rob in ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

Till white in ase they're sobbin : 
Nell's heart was dancin at the view ; 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't : 
Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonnie 
mou, 

Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, 

Unseen that night. 

But Merran sat behint their backs. 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
She lea'es them gashin at their cracks. 

An' slips out by hersel : 
She thro' the yard the nearest taks. 

An' to the kiln she goes then, 
An' darklins grapit for the banks, 

And in the blue-clue ^ throws then. 
Right fear't that night. 

An' aye she win't, an' ay she swat, 

I wat she made nae jaukin; 
Till something held within the pat, 

Guid Lord ! but she was quaukin ! 
But whether 'twas the Deil himsel. 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin 

To spier that night. 

Wee Jenny to her Grannie says, 

"Will ye go wi' me. Grannie ? 
" I'll eat the apple ^ at the glass, 

" I gat frae uncle Johnie : " 
She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt, 

In w-rath she was sae vap'rin. 
She notic't na, an aizle brunt - 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro' that night. 



" Ye little Skelpie-limmer's face! 

' ' I daur you try sic sportin, 
' ' As seek the foul Thief only place, 

' ' For him to spae your fortune ? 
" Nae doubt but ye may get a sight! 

' ' Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
" For monie a ane has got a fright, 

" And liv'd an' di'd deleeret, 
' ' On sic a night. 

" Ae Hairst afore the Sherra-moor, 

" I mind't as weel's yestreen, 
" I was a gilpey then, I'm sure 

'' I was na past fyfteen: 
' ' The simmer had been cauld an' wat, 

' ' An' stuff was unco' green ; 
" An' ay a rantin kirn we gat, 

" An' just on Halloween 

" It fell that night. 

" Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, 

' ' A clever, sturdy fallow ; 
" His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

" That liv'd in Achmacalla; 
" He gat hemp-seed, 3 1 mind itweel, 

' ' An' he made unco light o't ; 
' ' But monie a day was bi/ Mmsel, 

" He was sae sairly frighted 
"That vera night." 

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience, 
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck ; 

For it was a' but nonsense : 
The auld guidman raught down the 
pock, 

An' out a handf u' gied him ; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk. 

Sometime when nae ane see'd him. 
An' try't that night. 



* Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe these directions: 
Steal out, all alone to the kiln^ and darkling, throw into the pot a clue of blue yarn; 
wind it in a new clue off the old one ; and towards the latter end something will hold 
the thread ; demand xr/m /laitrfs .? i.e., who holds ? an answer will be returned from 
the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse. R. B. 

* Take a candle and go alone to a looking-glass ; eat an apple before it, and some tra- 
ditions say you should comb your hair all the time ; the face of vour conjugal compan- 
ion to he will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder. R. B. 

^ Steal out unperceived and sow a handful of hemp-seed, harrowing it with anything 
vou can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now and then, " Hemp-seed. I saw thee, 
hemp-seed, I saw thee ; and him (or her) tliat is to be my true-love, come after me and 
pou thee."' Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the per- 
son invoked in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, " come after me 
and shaw thee,"'' that is, show thyself ; in which case it simply appears. Others omit 
the harrowing, and say, " come after me and harrow thee." R. B. 



102 



HALLOWEEN. 



He marches thro' amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin ; 
The graip he for a harrow taks, 

An' haurls at his curpin : 
An' ev'ry now an' then, he says, 

" Hemp-seed, I saw thee, 
" An' her that is to be my lass, 

" Come after me an' draw thee 
" As fast this night." 

He whistl'd up Lord Lenox' march. 

To keep his courage cheary ; 
Altho' his hair began to arch, 

He was sae fley'd an' eerie : 
Till presently he hears a squeak. 

An' then a graue an' gruntle ; 
He by his shouther gae a keek. 

An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle 

Out-owre that night. 

He roar'd a horrid murder- shout. 

In dreadf u' desperation ! 
An' young an' auld come rinnin out, 

An' hear the sad narration : 
He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 
Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a' ; 

An' wha was it but OrtimjMe 
Asteer that night ! 

Meg fain wad to the barn gaen 

To winn three wechts o' naething ; i 
But for to meet the Deil her lane, 

She pat but little faith in : 
She gies the Herd a pickle nits. 

And twa red-cheekit apples, 
To watch, while for the barn she sets, 

In hopes to see Tam Kipples 
That vera night. 



She turns the key, wi' cannie thraw, 

An' owre the threshold ventures ; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca', 

Syne bauldly in she enters; 
A ratton rattlVl up the wa', 

An' she cry'd, Lord preserve her ! 
An ran thro' midden-hole an' a', 

An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervor, 
Fu' fast that night. 

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice ; 
They hecht him some fine braw 
ane; 
It chanced the stack he faddom't 
thrice ^ 
Was timmer-propt for thrawin : 
He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak. 

For some black, grousome Carlin ; 
An' loot a wince, an' drew a stroke. 
Till skin in blypes cam haurlin 
Aff's nieves that night. 

A wanton widow Leezie was. 

As cantie as a kittlin : 
But Och! that night, amang the 
shaws. 
She gat a f earf u' settlin ! 
She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn. 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, 
Whare three lairds' lands met at a 
burn,^ 
To dip her left sark-sleeve in. 
Was bent that night. 

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, 
As thro the glen it wimpl't ; 

Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; 
Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't ; 

Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays. 
Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 



1 This charm must likewise be performed unperceived and alone . You go to the barn 
and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible ; for there is danger that 
the heinq about to appear may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take 
that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which in our country dialect we call a 
wecht and go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat 
it three times ; and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, m at the 
windy door and out at the other, having both the figure in question and the appearance 
or retinue marking the employment or station in life. R. B. 

2 Take an opportvmity of going, unnoticed, to a Bear-stack^ and fathom it three times 
round. The last fathom of the last time you will catch in your arms the appearance of 
vour future con.iugal yoke-fellow. R. B. 

3 You eo out, one or more (for this is a social spell), to a south running spring or riv- 
ulet where " three lairds' lands meet," and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed m 
sieh't of a fire and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake, and somewhere 
near midnight an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, 
will come and turn the sleeve as if to dry the other side of it. R. B. 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 



103 



Whyles cookit underneath the braes, 
Below the spreadin hazel, 
Unseen that night. 

Amang the brachens on the brae, 

Between her an' the moon, 
The Deil, or else an outler Quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon : 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the 
hool ; 

Near lav'rock height she jumpit. 
But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, 
Wi' a plunge that night. 

In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 
The luggies three ^ are ranged ; 



And ev'ry time great care is taen. 
To see them duly changed : 

Auld uncle John, Avha wedlock's joys 
Sin' Mar's-year did desire, 

Because he gat the toom dish thrice, 
He heav'd them on the fire 
In wrath that night. 

Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary ; 
And imco tales, an' funnie jokes, 

Their sports were cheap and 
cheary ; 
Till butter'dSo'ns,2 wi' fragrant lunt, 

Set a' their gabs a-steerin ; 
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt. 

They parted aff careerin 

Fu' blythe that night. 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 



A CANTATA. 



RECITATIVO. 



When lyart leaves bestrow the yird. 
Or, wavering like the bauckie bird, 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast : 
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter 

skyte. 
And infant frosts begin to bite. 

In hoory cranreuch drest ; 
Ae night, at e'en, a merry core 

O' randie, gangrel bodies, 
In Poosie-Nausie's held the splore. 
To drink their orra duddies: 
Wi' quafiiug and laughing. 

They ranted and they sang ; 
Wi' jumping and thumping. 
The verra girdle rang. 



First, niest the fire, in auld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, 

And knapsack a' in order ; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae and blankets warm, 

She blinket on her sodger ; 
An' aye he gies the towsie drab 

The tither skelpin' kiss. 
While she held up her greedy gab, 
Just like an aumous dish ; 
Ilk smack still, did crack still, 

Just like a cadgers whip. 
Then staggering, and swagger- 
ing, 
He roar'd this ditty up — 



' Take three dishes ; put clean water in one, foul water in the other, and leave .the 
third empty, blindfold a person, and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged; 
he (or she) dips the left hand: if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or 
wife will come to the bar of matrimony a maid ; if the foul, a widow ; if in the empty 
dish, it foretells with equal certainty no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, 
and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered. R. B. 

- Soweus, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween Supper. R. B. 

'The scene of the "Jolly Beggars'' was the Change house of Poosie Nansie's in 
Mauchline, a favorite haunt of all kinds of vagrants. It is said that Burns witnessed 
the circumstances which gave rise to the poem in company with his friend James 
Smith. Although the most dramatic of all Burns's performances, it was not a fav- 
orite with his mother and brother, and he never seems to have thought it worthy of 
publication. Mr. (Jeorge Thomson had heard of its existence, and in 170-3 wrote the 
Poet on the subject. Burns' replied, " I have forgot the cantata you allude to, as 



I04 THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 

AIR. 

Tune—" Soldier''s Joy.'" 

I AM a son of Mars, who have been in many wars, 
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; 
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, 
When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, etc. 

My 'prentiship I pass'd where my leader breath'd his last, 
"When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram ; 
I serv'd out my trade when the gallant game was play'd. 
And the Morro^ low was laid at the sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, etc. 

I lastly was with Curtis,'^ among the floating batt'ries, 
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb : 
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot* to head me, 
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum. 

Lai de daudle, etc. 

And now, tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg, 
And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, 
I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet. 
As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. 

Lai de daudle, etc. 

What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks, 
Beneath the woods and rocks, oftentimes for a home ; 
When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell, 
I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum. 

RECITATIVO. 



He ended ; and the kebars sheuk, 

Aboon the chorus roar ; 
While frighted rattons backward 
leuk. 

And seek the benmost bore : 



A fairy fiddler frae the neuk. 

He skirlxl out encore ! 
But up arose the martial chuck, 

And laid the loud uproar. 



I kept no copy, and, indeed, did not know of its existence ; however, I remember that 
none of the songs pleased myself except the last, something about 
" Courts for cowards were erected 
Churches built to please the priest." 
It was first published in Glasgow in 1801. 

1 The heights of Abraham, where Wolfe gloriously fell. , , , ^ „ .. 

2 " El Morro, the castle which defends the entrance to the harbor of Santiago, 
or St. Jago, a small island -near the southern shore of Cuba. It is situated on an 
eminence, the abutments being cut out of the limestone rock. Logan's Notes of 
a Tour, etc., Edinburgh, 1838. In 1762 this castle was stormed and taken by the 
British, after which the Havana was surrendered, with spoil to the value of three 
millions.'" Chambers. . , . ^, . 

3 Captain Curtis, who destroyed the Spanish floating batteries during the siege 
of Gibraltar. ^ , „ ^, ^ , •, * 

* The defender of Gibraltar, George Augustus Elliot, created Lord Heathneld for 
bis services, 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 105 

AIR. 

Tune—" Soldier Laddie.'''' 

I ONCE was a maid, tlio' I cannot tell when, 
And still my delight is in proper young men ; 
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, etc. 

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, 
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade ; 
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, 
Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, etc. 

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch, 
So the sword I forsook for the sake of the church ; 
He ventured the soul, I risked the body, 
'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, etc. 

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, 
The regiment at large for a husband I got ; 
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, 
I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, etc. 

But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, 
Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair; 
His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy. 
My heart it rejoic'd at my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, etc. 

And now I have liv d — I know not how long, 

And still I can join in a cup or a song ; 

But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady, 

Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, etc. 

RECITATIVO. 



Poor Merry Andrew, in the neuk 

Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie ; 
They mind't na wha the chorus 
teuk, 
Between themselves they were sae 
bizzy ; 



At length, wi' drink and courting 
dizzy. 
He stoitered up an' made a face ; 
Then turn'd, an' laid a smack on 
Grizzy, 
Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave 
grimace. 



io6 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 



AIR. 
Tune — " Aiold Syr Symon.'''' 

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, 
Sir Knave is a fool in a session ; 

He's there but a 'prentice I trow, 
But I am a fool by profession. 

My grannie she bought me a beuk, 
And I held awa to the school ; 

I fear I my talent misteuk, 
But what will ye hae of a fool ? 

For drink I would venture my neck ; 

A hizzie's the half o' my craft ; 
But what could ye other expect, 

Of ane that's avowedly daft 1 

I ance was ty'd up like a stirk, 
For civilly swearing and quaffing, 

I ance was abus'd i' the kirk, 
For towzling a lass i' my daffin. 

Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, 
Let naebody name wi' a jeer; 

There's ev'n, I'm tauld, i' the court, 
A tumbler ca'd the Premier. 

Observ'd ye, yon reverend lad 
Maks faces to tickle the mob ; 

He rails at our mountebank squad — 
It's rivalship just i' the job. 

And now my conclusion I'll tell, 
For faith I'm confoundedly dry ; 

The chiel that's a fool for himsel', 
Gude Lord, is far dafter than I. 

RECITATIVO. 

Then niest outspak a raucle carlin, 
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the ster- 
ling. 
For monie a pursie she had hooked, 
And had in monie a well been dooked ; 
Her dove had been a Highland laddie, 
But weary fa' the waefu' woodie ! 
Wi' sighs and sabs, she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highland- 
man: 



Tune " O, an'' ye u-ere dead, Chiidman.'''' 

A Highland lad my love was born. 
The Lawlan' kws he held in scorn : 



But he still was faithfu' to his clan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandmaa. 



Sing, hey, my braw John Highland- 
man! 

Sing, ho, my braw John Highland- 
man! 

There's no a lad in a' the Ian' 

Was match for my John Highland- 



With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, 
And gude claymore down by his side, 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, etc. 

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
And liv'd like lords and ladies gay; 
For a Lawlan' face he feared nane, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, etc. 

They banish'd him beyond the sea, 
But ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, 
Embracing my John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, etc. 

But, oh ! they catch'd him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast ; 
My curse upon them every ane, 
They've hang'd my braw John High- 
landman. 

Sing, hey, etc. 

And now a widow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
No comfort but a hearty can, 
When I think on .lohn Highlandman,. 
Sing, hey, etc. 

RECITATrV^O. 

A pigmy Scraper wi' his fiddle, 
Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to driddle, 
Her strappin limb and gaucy middle 

(He reached nae higher) 
Had hol't his heartie like a riddle, 

And blawn't on fire. 

Wi' hand on haunch, and upward ee, 
He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three. 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 



107 



rhen, in an Arioso key, 

The wee Apollo 

Set aff, wi' Allegretto glee 
His giga solo. 



AIR. 

Tune—" Whistle owre the lave o't.''^ 

Let me ryke up to dight that tear, 
And go wi' me and be my dear, 
xlud then your every care and fear 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 



CHORUS. 

I am a fiddler to my trade, 
And a' the tunes that e'er I play'd. 
The sweetest still to wife or maid, 
Was whistle owre the lave o't. 



At 



be 



kirns and weddings we'se 
there, 
And oh ! sae nicely's we will fare ; 
We'll bouse about, till Daddie Care 
Sings whistle owre the lave o't. 
I am, etc. 

Sae merrily's the banes we'll pyke, 
And sun oursels about the dyke, 
And at our leisure, when ye like, 
We'll whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, etc. 



But 



your 



heav'n o 



bless me 
charms. 

And while I kittle hair on thairms. 
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms. 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, etc. 



RECITATIVO. 



Her 



charms had struck a sturdy 
Caird, 
As well as poor Gut-scraper; 
He taks the fiddler by the beard, 
And draws a roosty rapier — 

He swoor, by a' was swearing worth, 

To spit him like pliver. 
Unless he wad from that time forth 

IlelincLuish her for ever. 



Wi' ghastly ee, poor tweedle-dee 
Upon his hunkers bended, 

And pray'd for grace, wi' ruefu' 
face, 
And sae the quarrel ended. 

But tho' his little heart did grieve 
When round the tinkler prest her, 

He feigned to snirtle in his sleeve. 
When thus the Caird address'd 
her: 

AIR. 

Tune—" Clout the Caldron.." 

My bonnie lass, I work in brass, 

A tinkler is my station ; 
I've travel'd round all Christian 
ground 
In this my occupation ; 
I've ta'en the gold, I've been en- 
roll'd 
In many a noble squadron ; 
But vain they search'd, when off I 
march'd 
To go and clout the caldron. 

I've ta'en the gold, etc. 

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd 
imp, 
Wi' a' his noise and cap'rin', 
And tak a share wi' those that bear 

The budget and the apron ; 
And by that stoup, my faith and 
houp, 
And by that dear Kilbagie, 
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant. 
May I ne'er weet my craigie. 

And by that stoup, etc. 

RECITATIVO. 

The Caird prevail'd — th' unblushing 
fair 

In his embraces sunk, 
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair. 

And partly she was drunk. 
Sir Violiuo, with an air 

That show'd a man o' spunk, 
Wish'd unison between the pair. 

And made the bottle clunk 

To tljeir health that night. 



io8 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 



But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft 

That play'd a dame a shavie, 
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft, 

Behint the chicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft, 

Thro' limpin' wi' the spavie, 
He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft, 

And shor'd them Dainty Davie. 

O boot that night. 

He was a care-defying blade 

As ever Bacchus listed. 
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid, 

His heart she ever miss'd it. 
He had nae wish, but — to be glad. 

Nor want but — when he thirsted ; 
He hated not but — to be sad. 

And thus the Muse suggested 

His sang that night. 

AIR. 
Tune—" For a' that, and a' thaty 

I AM a bard of no regard 
Wi' gentlefolks, an' a' that ; 

But Homer-like, the glowran byke, 
Frae town to town I draw that, 

CHORUS, 

For a' that, and a' that. 

And twice as meikle's a' that ; 

I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', 
I've wife eneugh for a' that, 

I never drank the Muses' stank, 

Castalia's burn, an' a' that ; 
But there is streams, and richly 
reams. 
My Helicon I ca' that. 

For a' that, etc. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair, 
Their humble slave, an' a' that ; 

But lordly will, I hold it still 
A mortal sin to tliraw that. 

For a' that, etc. 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 
Wi' mutual love, an' a that ; 

But for how lang the flie may stang. 
Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, etc. 



Their tricks and craft hae put me 
daft, 
They've ta'en me in, an' a' that; 
But clear your decks, and here's the 
sex ! 
I like the jads for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

And twice as muckle's a' that, 
My dearest bluid, to do them 
guid, 
They're welcome till't, for a 
that, 

RECITATIVO. 

So sung the bard — and Nansie's wa's 
Shook with a thunder of applause, 

Re-echo'd from each mouth; 
They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd 

their duds, 
They scarcely left to co'er their f uds, 

To quench their lowan drouth. 

Then owre again, the jovial thrang 

The poet did request. 
To lowse his pack, an' wale a sang, 

A ballad o' the best ; 
He rising, rejoicing. 

Between his twa Deborahs, 
Looks round him, an' found them 

Impatient for the chorus. 

AIR. 
Tune — " Jolly Mortals, fill your glasses.** 

See ! the smoking bowl before us, 
Mark our jovial ragged ring; 

Round and round take up the chorus, 
And in raptures let us sing : 

CHORUS. 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected. 

Churches built to please the 
priest. 

What is title ? what is treasure 1 
What is reputation's care ? 

If we lead a life of pleasure, 
'Tis no matter, how or where ! 

A fig, etc 



THE AULD FARMER S NEW-YEAR SALUTATION. lOQ 



With the ready rick and fable, 
Round we wander all the day ; 

And at night, in barn or stable. 
Hug our doxies on the hay. 

A fig, etc. 

Does the train-attended carriage 
Thro' the country lighter rove ? 

Does the sober bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of love ? 
A fiff, etc. 



Life is all a variorum ; 

We regard not how it goes. 
Let them cant about decorum 

Who have characters to lose. 

A fig, etc. 



Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets ! 

Here's to all the wandering train ! 
Here's our ragged brats and callets ! 

One and all cry out, Amen ! 

A fig, etc. 



THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO 
HIS AULD MARE, MAGGIE, 

ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR. 



A GuiD New-Year I wish thee, Mag- 
gie! 
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld bag- 
gie: 
Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, an' 
knaggie, 

I've seen the day. 
Thou could hae gane like onj^ staggie 
Out-owre the lay. 

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' 

crazy, 
An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisie, 
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek an' 
glaizie, 

A bonnie gray : 
He should been tight that daur't to 
raize thee, 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank, 
An' set weel down a shapely shank. 

As e'er tread yird ; 
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, 

Like onie bird. 

It's now some nine-an'-twenty year. 
Sin' thou was my guid -father's meere ; 
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear. 

An' fifty mark ; 
Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won 
gear, 

An' thou was stark. 



When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie: 
Tho' ye was trickle, slee, an' funnie, 

Y'e ne'er was donsie ; 
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, 

An unco sonsie. 

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle 

pride. 
When ye bure hame my bonnie bride ; 
An' sweet an' gracef u' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide, 
For sic a pair. 

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble 
An' wintle like a saumont-coble, 
That day ye was a j inker noble 

For heels an' win'! 
An' ran them till they a' did wauble, 

Far, far behin'. 

When thou an' I were young and 

skeigli. 
An' stable-meals at fairs were driegh, 
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' 
skriegh 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's-bodies ran, and stood abeigh, 
An' ca't thee mad. 

When thou was corn't, an' I was 

mellow, 
We took the road ay like a swallow : 



no THE AULD FARMERS NEW-YEAR SALUTATION. 



At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, 
For pith au' speed ; 

But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, 
Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma', droop -rumpl't, hunter cat- 
tle, 
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brat- 
tle; 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their 
mettle, 

An' gart them whaizle : 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 
O' saugh or hazel. 

Thou was a noble fittie-lan', 

As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 

Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun. 

On guid March-weather 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han'. 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't, an 

fliskit, 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae 

whiskit, 
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd 

briskit, 

Wi' pith an' pow'r. 
Till spritty knowes wad rair't and 

riskit, 

An' slypet owre. 

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were 

deep, 
An' threaten'd labor back to keep, 
I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap 

Aboon the timmer ; 
I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer. 



In cart or car thou never reestit ; 
The steyest brae thou wad hae face't 

it; 
Thou never lap, an' sten't, and 
breastit, 

Then stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 
Thou snoov't awa. 



My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a' : 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa. 

That thou hast nurst : 
They drew me thretteen pund an' 
twa, 

The vera warst. 

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae 

wrought. 
An' wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
An' monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought, 

Wi' something yet. 

And think na, my auld, trusty serv- 

an'. 
That now perhaps thou's less de- 

servin, 
An' thy auld days may end in starvin, 

For my last fou, 
A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane 
Laid by for you. 

We've w^orn to crazy years thegither ; 
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether 

To some hain'd rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 

Wi' sma' fatigue. 



TO A MOUSE. 



Ill 



TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE 
PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785.1 



"Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'roiis 

beastie, 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle ! 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murd'ring pattle ! 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union. 
An' justifies that ill opinion, 

Which makes thee startle, 
At me, thy poor, earth-born com- 
panion, 

An' fellow-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may 

thieve ; 
What then ? poor beastie, thou maun 

live! 
A daimen-icker in a thrave 

'S a sma' request : 

I'll get a blessin wi' the lave. 

And never miss't ! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
Its silly wa"s the win's are strewin ! 
An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 

O' f oggage green ! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 

Baith snell an' keen ! 



Thou saw the fields laid bare and 

waste. 
An' weary winter comin fast, 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 
Thou thought to dwell. 
Till crash ! the cruel coulter past, 
Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stib- 

ble. 
Has cost thee mony a wear}^ nibble! 
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy 
trouble, 

But house or hald, 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble, 
An' cranreuch cauld ! 



But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In proving foresight may be vain : 
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men 

Gang aft a-gley, 
An' lea'e us naught but grief an' pain, 

For promis'd joy. 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me 1 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear ! 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess an' fear! 



1 Gilbert Burns states that the "Verses to the Mouse" were composed while 
the author was holding the plough. Mr. Chambers relates a pleasant circumstance 
in relation to the event, and the poem to which it gave rise. " John Blane, who 
had acted as gaudsman to Burns, and who lived sixty years afterwards, had a distinct 
recollection of the turning up of the mouse. Like a thoughtless youth as he was, he 
ran after the creature to kill it, but was checked and recalled by his master, Avho he 
observed became - thereafter thoughtful and abstracted. Burns, who treated his 
servants with the familiarity of fellow-laborers, soon after read the poem to Blane." 
The gaudsman's rush after the terrified creature may have suggested the lines :— 

" I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 
Wi' murd'ring pattle." 



112 A WINTER NIGHT. 



A WINTER NIGHT. 



Poor naked wretches, wheresoe''er you are, 
TJiat bide the pelting of this pitiless storm / 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides. 
Your loop'd and windoiv^d raggedness, defend you. 
From seasons such as these ? 

Shakespeare. 



When biting Boreas, fell and doure, 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; 
When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r, 

Far south the lift, 
Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r, 

Or whirling drift : 

Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor Labor sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns, wi' snawy wreeths up-choked, 

Wild-eddying swirl, 
Or thro' the mining outlet bocked, 

Down headlong hurl. 

List'ning, the doors an' winnocks rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

O' winter war. 
And thro' the drift, deep -lairing, sprattle, 

Beneath a scar. 

Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing ! 
That, in the merry months o' spring, • 
Delighted me to hear thee sing. 

What comes o' thee ? 
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing 

An' close thy e'e ? 

Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd. 
Lone from your savage homes exil'd. 
The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil'd 

My heart forgets, 
While pityless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign. 
Dark mufll'd, view'd the dreary plain; 
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, 

Rose in my soul, 
When on my ear this plaintive strain. 

Slow, solemn, stole — 

" Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust! 
"And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost! 



A WINTER NIGHT. 1x3 



"Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows! 
"Not all your rage, as now, united shows 
"More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
"Vengeful malice unrepenting, 
"Than heav'n-illumin'd man on brother man bestows! 
"See stern Oppression's iron grip, 
" Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 
"Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 

"Woe, want, and murder o'er a land! 
"Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, 
"Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 
"How pamper'd Luxury, Flatt'ry by her side, 
" The parasite empoisoning her ear, 
" With all the servile wretches in the rear, 
"Looks o'er proud property, extended wide; 
"And eyes the simple rustic hind, 

' ' Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show, 
" A creature of another kind, 
"Some coarser substance, unrefin'd, 
"Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below. 

"Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, 
" With lordly Honor's lofty brow, 

" The pow'rs you proudly own ? 
"Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 
" Can harbor, dark, the selfish aim, 

"To bless himself alone I 
"Mark maiden-innocence a prey 

"To love-pretending snares, 
"This boasted honor turns away, 
"Shunning soft pity's rising sway, 
"Regardless of the tears, and unavailing pray'rs! 
"Perhaps this hour, in mis'ry's squalid nest, 
"She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 
"And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast! 

" Oh ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, 
"Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
"Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 

"Whom friends and fortune quite disown! 
" ni-satistied keen nature's clam'rous call, 

" Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, 
"While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, 
"Chill o'er his slumbers, piles the drifty heap! 
"Think on the dungeon's grim confine, 
"Where guilt and poor misfortune pine! 
"Guilt, erring man, relenting view! 
' ' But shall thy legal rage pursue 

"The wretch, already crushed low, 
"By cruel fortune's undeserved blow ? 
" Afliiction's sons are brothers in distress ; 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss I " 



8 



114 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 



I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 
Shook off the pouthery snaw, 

And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 
A cottage-rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impress'd my mind 
Thro' all His works abroad, 

The heart benevolent and kind 
The most resembles God. 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET. 



While winds frae off Ben -Lomond 

blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing us owre the ingle, 
I set me down, to pass the time, 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme. 

In hamely, westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the Great-folk's gift, 
That live sae bien an snug : 
I tent less, and want less 
Their roomy fire-side ; 
But hanker and canker. 
To see their cursed pride. 

It's hardly in a body's pow'r. 

To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how things are shar'd ; 

How best o' chields are whyles in 

want, 
While coofs on countless thousands 
rant, 

And ken na how to wair't : 
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, 

Tho' we hae little gear, 

* Davie was David Sillar, a member of the Tarbolton Club, and author of a volume 
of poems printed at Kilmarnock in 1789. Gilbert Burns states that the " Epistle" 
was among the earliest of his brother's poems. " It was," he adds, " I think, in sum- 
mer, 1784, when, in the interval of harder labor, he and I were weeding in the garden 
(kailyard) that he repeated to me the principal part of the epistle. I believe the first 
idea of Robert's becoming an author was started on this occaion. I was much 
pleased with the epistle, and said to him I was of opinion it would bear being printed, 
and that it would be well received by people of taste ; that I thought it at least equal, 
if not superior, to many of Allan Ramsay's epistles ; and that the merit of these, 
and much other Scottish poetry, seemed to consist in the knack of the expression ; 
but here there was a stream of interesting sentiment, and the Scotticism of the lan- 
guage scarcely seemed affected, but appeared to be the natural language of the 
poet ; that, besides, there was certainly some novelty in a poet pointing out the conso- 
lations that were in store for him when he should go a-begging. Robert seemed 
very well pleased with my criticism, and we talked of sending it to some magazine ; 
but as the plan afforded no opportunity of how it would take, the idea was dropped." 

2 Ramsay. R. B. 



January— [1784] . 

We're fit to win our daily bread. 
As lang's we're hale and fier: 
"Mair spier na, nor fear na," 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg ; 
The last o't, the warst o't. 
Is only but to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en. 
When banes are craz'd, and bluid is 
thin. 
Is, doubtless, great distress! 
Yet then content would mak us blest ; 
Ev'n then, sometimes, we'd snatch a 
taste 
Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile, 
However fortune kick the ba'. 
Has ay some cause to smile : 
And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae sma' ; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 

What tho', like commoners of air. 
We wander out, we know not where, 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 



115 



But either house or hal' ? 
Yet nature's charms, the hills and 

woods, 
The sweeping vales, and foaming 
floods 
Are free alike to all. 
In days when daisies deck the ground 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will 
bound. 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please, then, 

We'll sit and sowth a tune ; 
Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't 
And sinff't when we hae done. 



It's no in titles nor in rank; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank. 

To purchase peace and rest; 
It's no in making muckle, mair : 
It's no in books, it's no in lear, 

To make us truly blest : 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And center in the breast. 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures. 

Could make us happy lang : 
The heart ay's the part ay, 
That makes us right or wrang ; 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 
Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' 
dry, 
Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tent as in their way. 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 

God's creatures the}^ oppress! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid. 
They riot in excess ! 
Baith careless, and fearless. 

Of either heav'n or hell ! 
Esteeming, and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale ! 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less. 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should misfortune come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 

Au's thankfu' for them yet. 



They gie the wit of age to youth; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They mak us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill. 
Tho' losses, and crosses. 
Be lessons right severe. 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Ye'll find nae other where. 

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ; 
(To say aught less wad wrang the 
cartes. 
And flatt'ry I detest) 
This life has joys for you and I; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy; 

And joys the very best. 
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, 

The lover an' the frien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean ! 
It warms me, it charms me. 
To mention but her name : 
It heats me, it beets me, 
And sets me a' on flame ! 

O all ye pow'rs who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose very self art love ! 
Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming thro' my 

heart, 
Or my more dear immortal part. 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest, 
Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, All-seeing, 

O hear my fervent pray'r ; 
Still take her, and make her 
Thy most peculiar care ! 

All hail, ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendl}^ tear, 

The sympathetic glow ! 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had number'd out my weary days. 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend, 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens 

The tenebrific scene, 
To meet with, and greet with 
My Davie or my Jean* 



Ii6 



THE LAMENT. 



O, how that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin, rank and 
file, 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine, 
As Phoebus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
My spaviet Pegasus will limp, 



Till ance he's fairly het ; 
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and 
jimp 
An rin an unco fit : 
But lest then, the beast then. 
Should rue his hasty ride, 
I'll light now, and dight now 
His sweaty, wizen'd hide. 



THE LAMENT. 



OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR. 

Alas ! how oft does Goodness wound itself. 
And sweet Affection prove the spring of woe ! 

Home, 



THOU pale Orb, that silent shines, 
While care - untroubled mortals 

sleep ! 
Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, 
And wanders here to wail and 
weep! 
With woe I nightly vigils keep, 
Beneath thy wan, unwarming 
beam; 
And mourn, in lamentation deep. 
How life and love are all a dream. 

1 joyless view thy rays adorn 
The faintly marked, distant hill : 

I joyless view thy trembling horn. 

Reflected in the gurgling rill : 
My fondly-fluttering heart, be still ! 

Thou busy pow'r, Eemembrance, 
cease ! 
Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 

Forever bar returning peace ! 

No idly-feign'd poetic pains, 
My sad, love - lorn lamentings 
claim ; 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian 
strains ; 
No fabled tortures, quaint and 
tame: 
The plighted faith; the mutual 
flame; 
The oft attested Pow'rs above ; 
The promis'd father's tender name : 
These were the pledges of my love ! 

»With reference to the poem Gilbert Burns writes, "It is scarcely necessary 
to mention that the ' Lament ' was composed on that unfortunate passage of his 
matrimonial history which I have mentioned in my letter to Mrs. Dunlop, after 
the first distraction of his feelings had a little subsided. 



Encircled in her clasping arms, 

How have the raptur'd moments 
flown! 
How have I wish'd for fortune's 
charms. 

For her dear sake, and hers alone ! 
And must I think it ! is she gone. 

My secret heart's exulting boast ? 
And does she heedless hear my groan ? 

And is she ever, ever lost ? 

Oh ! can she hear so base a heart, 
So lost to honor, lost to truth. 
As from the fondest lover part. 

The plighted husband of her youth \ 
Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth ! 
Her way may lie thro' rough dis- 
tress ! 
Then, who her pangs and pains will 
soothe. 
Her sorrows share, and make them 
less? 

The winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy 'd, 
Your dear remembrance in my breast, 

My fondly-treasur'd thoughts em- 
ploy'd. 
That breast, how dreary now, and 
void. 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd, 

And not a wish to gild the gloom ! 



DESPONDENCY. 



n; 



The morn that warns th' approach- 
ing day, 

Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
I see the hours in long array, 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train. 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, 
low, 

Shall kiss the distant, western main. 

And when my nightly couch I try, 
Sore-harass'd out with care and 
grief. 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn 
eye. 
Keep watchings with the nightly 
thief: 
Or if I slumber. Fancy, chief, 
Eeigns, haggard -wild in sore 
affright : 
Ev'n day, all-bitter brings relief, 
From such a horror - breathing 
night. 



O ! thou bright Queen, who o'er th' 
expanse 
Now highest reign'st, with bound- 
less swaj^ ! 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 
Observ'd us, fondly - wand'ring, 
stray ! 
The time, unheeded, sped away. 
While love's luxurious pulse beat 
high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray. 
To mark the mutual-kindling eye. 



Oh! scenes in strong remembrance 
set! 

Scenes, never, never to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget. 

Again I feel, again I burn ! 
From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn. 

Life's weary vale I'll wander 
thro' ; 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



DESPONDENCY. 



AN ODE. 



Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with 

care, 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I set me down and sigh : 
O life ! thou art a galling load. 
Along a rough, a weary road, 

To wretches such as I ! 
Dim backward as I cast my view. 

What sick'ning scenes appear ! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me 
thro', 
Too justly I may fear! 
Still caring, despairing. 

Must be my bitter doom ; 
My woes here shall close ne'er, 
But with the closing tomb ! 

Happy, ye sons of busy life. 
Who, equal to the bustling strife, 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd, 
Yet while the busy means are ply'd, 

They bring their own reward ; 



Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, 

Unfitted with an aim, 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night. 
And joyless morn the same ; 
You, bustling, and justling, 

Forget each grief and pain ; 
I, listless, yet restless. 
Find every prospect vain. 

How blest the Solitary's lot. 
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot. 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling roots, 
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits. 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his ev'ning thought, 

By unfrequented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint-collected dream : 
While praising, and raising 
His thoughts to Heav'n on 
high. 
As wand'ring, meand'ring. 
He views the solemn sky. 



ii8 



WINTER. 



Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trac'd, 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve, 
And just to stop, and just to move. 

With self-respecting art: 
But ah! those pleasures, loves, and 
joys, 
Which I too keenly taste. 
The Solitary can despise. 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not, 

Or human love or hate. 
Whilst I here, must cry here. 
At perfidy ingrate ! 



Oh ! enviable, early days, 
When dancing thoughtless pleasure's 
maze, 
To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchang'd for riper times, 
To fee the follies, or the crimes. 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush, 
Ye little know the ills ye court, 
When manhood is your wish ! 
The losses, the crosses. 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all, the tears all, 
Of dim-declining age. 



WINTER. 



A DIRGE. 



The wintry west extends his blast. 

And hail and rain does blaw ; 
Or, the stormy north sends driving 
forth, 

The blinding sleet and snaw : 
While, tumbling brown, the burn 
comes down. 

And roars f rae bank to brae : 
And bird and beast in covert rest. 

And pass the heartless day. 

"The sweeping blast, the sky o'er- 
cast," ' 

The joyless winter-day. 
Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May : 



The tempest's howl, it soothes my 
soul. 

My griefs it seems to join; 
The leafless trees my fancy please, 

Their fate resembles mine ! 



Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty 
scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are Thy will ! 
Then all I want, (Oh ! do thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy thou dost deny, 

Assist me to resign. 



1 Dr. Young. R. B. 



THE COTTER*S SATURDAY NIGHT. II9 
THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.i 

INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ., OF AYR. 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil. 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
Nor Grandeur hear, loith a disdainful smile. 

The short and simple annals of the Poor. 

Gray. 

My lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend ! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays : 
With honest pride, I scorn eacli selfish end ; 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 

What Aiken in a cottage w^ould have been ; 
Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween. 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; 

The short'niug winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 

The black'niug trains o' craws to their repose : 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes. 

This night his weekly moil is at an end. 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend. 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through 

To meet their Dad, wa' flichterin noise an' glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily. 

His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile. 
An' makes him quite forget his labor an' his toil. 

1 Gilbert Burns, in writing of the " Cotter's Saturday Night," says, " Robert had 
frequently remarked to me, tliat he thouglit there was somethmgpecuharly vener- 
able in the phrase, ' Let us worship God,' used by a decent sober head of a family 
introducing family worship. To this sentiment of the author the world is mdebted 
for the 'Cotter's Saturday Night.' The hint of the plan and title of the poem were 
taken from Fergusson's 'Farmer's Ingle.' When Robert had not some pleasure in 
view in which I was not thought fit to participate, we used frequently to walk together 
when the weather was favorable, on the Sunday afternoons (those precious breath- 
ing times to the laboring part of the community"), and enjoyed such Sundays as 
would make one regret to see their number abridged. It was in one of these walks 
that T first had the pleasure of hearing the author repeat the ' Cotter's Saturday 
Night.' I do not recollect to have read or heard anything by which I was more highly 
electrified. The fifth and sixth stanzas, and the eighteenth, thrilled with a peculiar 
ecstasy through my soul." 



120 THE cotter's SATURDAY NIGHT. 



Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, 

At service out, amang the farmers roun' ; 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman-grown, 

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, 

Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

With joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, 

An' each for other's weelf are kindly spiers : 
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet; 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, ,wi' her needle an' her sheers. 

Oars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

Their master's an' their mistress's command, 

The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
An' mind their labors wi' an eydent hand, 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play. 
An' O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway, 

"An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night! 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray. 

Implore His counsel and assisting might : 
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright 1 " 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door. 

Jenny, w^ha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor. 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; 
Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, 

While Jenny hafiiins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. 

Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben; 

A strappan youth ; he takes the mother's eye ; 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy. 

But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave ; 
Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lava 

O happy love ! where love like this is found ! 

O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 
I've paced much this weary, mortal round. 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 



THE cotter's SATURDAY NIGHT. 12 f 



" If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 

One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair. 

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale. 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale. 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 

A wretch ! a villain I lost to love and truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 
Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth! 

Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exil'd ? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild ! 

But now the supper crowns their simple board. 

The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food: 
The soupe their onl}^ Hawkie does afford. 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood ; 
The dame brings forth in complimental mood. 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell. 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, 
How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint w^as i' the bell. 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face. 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride : 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside. 

His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide. 

He wales a portion with judicious care, 
And "Let us worship God! " he says, with solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : 
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, 

Or plaintive INIartyrs, worthy of the name; 
Or noble Elgin beets the heav'nward flame. 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; 

The tickl'd ears no heartfelt raptures raise;' 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page. 
How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 

Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
With Amalek's ungracious progeny; 

Or how the royal Bard did groaning lie 
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 



122 THE cotter's SATURDAY NIGHT. 



Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy Seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
How He, who bore in Heaven the second name, 

Had not on earth whereon to lay His head ; 
How His first followers and servants sped ; 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished. 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by Heaven's command. 

Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, 

The saint, the father, and the husband prays: 
Hope " springs exulting on triumpliant wing," 

That thus they all shall meet in future days: 
There ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator's praise, 

In such society, yet still more dear; 
While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, 

In all the pomp of method, and of art. 
When men display to congregations wide 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart! 
The Power, incens'd, the pageant will desert, 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
But haply, in some cottage far apart. 

May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul; 
And in his Book of Life the inmates poor enroll. 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way ; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay. 

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request, 
That he who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, 
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, 

For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs. 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 

" An honest man's the noblest work of God:" 
And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; 
What is a lordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load, 

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind. 
Studied in ^-rts of hell, in wickedness refin'd 1 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 



123 



O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent ! 
Long may tliy hardy sons of rustic toil 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content ! 
And, Oh, may heaven their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ; 
Then, howe'er crow^ns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. 

O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 

That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart; 
Who dar'd to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride. 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art. 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) 
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert. 

But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard ! 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 1 



A DIRGE. 



When chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare, 
One ev'ning as I wander'd forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spy'd a man, w^hose aged step 

Seem'd weary, worn with care ; 
His face was f urrow'd o'er with years. 

And hoary was his hair. 

Young stranger, w^hither wand'rest 
thou? 

Began the rev'rend Sage ; 
Dost thirst of w^ealth thy step con- 
strain, 

Or youthful pleasure's rage ? 
Or, haply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn, 

The miseries of Man, 

The sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Out-spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labor to support 

A haughty lordling's pride ; 

1 Gilbert Burns writes, " Several of the poems were produced for the purpose of 
bringing forward some favorite sentiment of the author. He used to remark to me 
that he could not well conceive a more mortifying picture of human life than a 
man seeking work. In casting about in his mind how this sentiment might be brought 
forward, the elegy " Man was made to Mourn " was composed. 



I've seen yon w^eary winter sun 
Twice forty times return: 

And ev'ry time has added proofs, 
That Man was made to mourn. 

O man ! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of time! 
Mis-spending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway ; 

Licentious passions burn; 
Which tenfold force give nature's 
law, 

That Man was made to mourn. 

Look not alone on youthful prime. 

Or manhood's active might; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported in his right, 
But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows worn. 
Then age and want. Oh ! ill-match'd 
pair ! 

Show Man was made to mourn. 



124 



A PRAYER. 



A few seem favorites of fate, 

In pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet, think not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, Oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land 

Are wretched and forlorn ; 
Thro' weary life this lesson learn, 

That Man was made to mourn. 

Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frames ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves, 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heaven-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 

See yonder poor, o'erlabor'd wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile. 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly fellow-worm 

The poor petition spurn. 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 



If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave, 

By nature's law design'd. 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty, or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and pow'r 

To make his fellow mourn ? 

Y^'et, let not this too much, my son. 

Disturb thy youthful breast ; 
This partial view of human-kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man. 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn ! 

O Death! the poor man's dearest 
friend. 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasures torn; 
But, Oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn ! 



A PRAYER, IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH.i 



O Thou unknown. Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour. 

Perhaps I must appear ! 

If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As something, loudly in my breast. 

Remonstrates I have done ; 



Thou know'st that Thou hast form'd 
me 
With passions wild and strong; 



And list'ning to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come 
short, 
Or frailty stept aside. 
Do Thou, All Good ! for such Thou 
art, 
In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd. 

No other plea I have, 
But, Thou art good; and Goodness 
still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



1 In Burns's memoranda the following passage is prefixed to the prayer : " A 
prayer, when fainting fits, and other alarming symptoms of pleurisy, or some other 
dangerous disorder, which indeed still threatens me, first put nature on the alarm. 



LINES. 



125 



STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. 

Why am I loth to leave this eartlily scene? 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? 
Some drops of joy with drauglits of ill between: 

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms; 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? 

Or Death's unlovely, drear}^ dark abode? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms ; 

I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, "Forgive my foul offense!" 

Fain promise never more to disobey ; 
But, should my Author health again dispense, 

Again I might desert fair virtue's way ; 
Again in folly's path might go astray ; 

Again exalt the brute, and sink the man ; 
Then how should I for Heavenly mercy pray, 

Who act so counter Heavenly mercy's plan? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran? 

O Thou, great Governor of all below ! 

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 

And still the tumult of the raging sea : 
With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me, 

Those headlong furious passions to confine, 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be, 

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 
O, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine ! 



LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE ONE NIGHT,i 



THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING VERSES IN THE ROOM 
WHERE HE SLEPT. 



The hoary sire — the mortal stroke, 
Long, long, be pleas'd to spare ; 

To bless his little filial flock. 
And show what good men are. 



O Thou dread Pow'r, who reign'st 
above, 

I know Thou wilt me hear ; 
When for this scene of peace audio ve, 

I make my pray'r sincere. 

i"The first time," says Gilbert Burns, "Robert heard the spinnet played upon 
was at the house of Dr. Laiu-ie, then minister of the parish of Loudon, now in Glasgow, 
having given up the parish in favor of his son. Dr. Laurie has several daughters : 
one of them played; the father and mother led down the dance ; the rest of the sisters, 
the brother, the Poet, and the other guests, mixed in it. Tt was a delightful family 
scene for our Poet, then lately introduced to the world. His mind was roused to a 
poetic enthusiasm, and the stanzas were left in the room where he slept." 3Ir. Cham- 
bers states that the morning after the dance Burns did not make his appearance at 
the breakfast table at the usual hour. Dr. Laurie's son went to inquire for him, and 
met him on the stair. The young man asked Burns if he had slept well. " Xot well," 
was the reply ; " the fact is, I have been praying half the night. If you go up to my 
room, you will find my prayer on the table." 



126 THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH PSALM. 



She, who her lovely offspring eyes 
With tender hopes and fears, 

O, bless her with a mother's joys. 
But spare a mother's tears ! 



Their hope, their stay, their darling 
youth, 

In manhood's dawning blush ; 
Bless him, thou God of love and truth, 

Up to a parent's wish. 



The beauteous, seraph sister-band, 
With earnest tears I pray. 

Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry 
hand. 
Guide Thou their steps alway. 

When soon or late they reach that 
coast 

O'er life's rough ocean driven. 
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 

A family in Heaven ! 



THE FIRST PSALM. 



The man, in life wherever plac'd, 

Hath happiness in store. 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 

Nor learns their guilty lore : 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride 
Casts forth his eyes abroad, 

But with humility and awe 
Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees 
Which by the streamlets grow ; 



The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt 
Shall to the ground be cast, 

And like the rootless stubble tost, 
Before the sweeping blast. 

For why? that God the good adore 
Hath giv'n them peace and rest. 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



A PRAYER, UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH.i 



O Thou great Being ! what Thou art 

Surpasses me to know : 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all Thy works below. 

Thy creature here before Thee stands, 
All wretched and distrest ; 

Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 
Obey Thy high behest. 



Sure, Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or close them fast in death ! 

But if I must afflicted be. 
To suit some wise design ; 

Then, man my soul with firm resolves 
To bear and not repine ! 



THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH PSALM. 



O Thou, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race ! 
Whose strong right hand has ever 
been 

Their stay and dwelling-place ! 



Before the mountains heav'd their 
heads 

Beneath Thy forming hand. 
Before this ponderous globe itself 

Arose at Thy command ; 



1 In Burns's memoranda the poem appears with the following sentences prefixed : 
" There was a certain period of my life that my spirit was broke by repeated losses 
and disasters, which threatened, and indeed effected, the utter ruin of my fortune. 
My body, too, was attacked by that most dreadful disorder, a hypochondria or confirm- 
ed melancholy. In this wretched state, the recollection of which makes me yet 
shudder, I hung my harp on the willow-trees, except in some lucid intervals, in 
one of which I composed the following." 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 



127 



That pow'r which rais'd and still up- 
holds 

This universal frame, 
From countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 
Which seem to us so vast, 

Appear no more before Thy sight 
Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou giv'st the word ; Thy creature, 
man, 
Is to existence brought ; 



Again Thou say'st " Ye sons of men. 
Return ye into naught ! " 

Thou layest them, with all their cares, 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood Thou tak'st them off 

With overwhelming sweep ; 

They flourish like the morning 
flow'r, 

In beauty's pride array'd ; 
But long ere night cut down it lies 

All wither'd and decay'd. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786. 



Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem. 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r, 

Thou bonnie gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie Lark, companion meet ! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! 

Wi' spreckl'd breast, 
When up ward -springing, blythe, to 
greet 

The purpling east- 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens 

yield. 
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun 

shield. 
But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane. 
Adorns the histie stibble-field, 
Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad. 
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, 



Thou lifts thy unassuming head 
In humble guise ; 

But now the share uptears thy bed, 
And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray 'd, 

And guileless trust. 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 
On life's rough ocean luckless 

starr'd ! 
Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore. 
Till billows rage, and gales blow 
hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, 
Who long with wants and woes has 

striv'n. 
By human pride or cunning driv'n 

To misery's brink, 
Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but 
Heav'u, 

He, ruin'd, sink! 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's 

fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 



128 



EPISTLE TO A YOUND FRIEND. 



Stern Euin's ploughshare drives, 
elate, 

Full on thy bloom, 



Till crush'd beneath the furrow's 
weight. 

Shall be thy doom ! 



TO RUIN. 



All hail ! inexorable lord ! 
At whose destruction-breathing 
word 
The mightiest empires fall ! 
Thy cruel, woe delighted train, 
The ministers of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tie, 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then low 'ring, and pouring. 

The storm no more I dread ; 
Tho' thick'ning and black'ning 
Round my devoted head. 



And, thou grim pow'r, by life ab- 

horr'd, 
While life a pleasure can afford, 

Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! 
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid, 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 

To close this scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace, 

Resign life's joyless day; 
My weary heart its throbbings cease, 
Cold-mold'ring in the clay? 
No fear more, no tear more, 
To stain my lifeless face, 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace ! 



TO MISS LOGAN, WITH BEATTIE'S POEMS, 

FOR A NEW year's GIFT, JANUARY 1, 1787. 



Again the silent wheels of time 
Their annual round have driv'n, 

And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime. 
Are so much nearer Heav'n. 

No gifts have I from Indian coasts 
The infant year to hail ; 



I send you more than India boasts, 
In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 
Is charg'd, perhaps too true ; 

But may, dear Maid, each lover prove 
An Edwin still to you ! 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 



I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' 
friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho' it should serve nae itlier end 

Then just a kind memento; 
But how the subject theme may 
gang. 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps, it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps, turn out a sermon. 

Ye'U try the world soon, my lad. 
And, Andrew dear, believe me. 



Ye'll find mankind an unco squad, 
And muckle they may grieve ye: 

For care and trouble set your thought, 
Ev'n when your end's attained; 

And a' your views may come to 
naught, 
Where ev'ry nerve is strained. 



I'll no say, men are villains a' ; 

The real, liarden'd wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few restricked: 



1 This poem was addressed to Andrew Aitken, son of the poet's patron, Robert 
Aitken, to whom the "Cotter's Saturday Night" was dedicated. Mr. Chambers 
states that Mr. Niven of Kilbride always alleged that the " Epistle " was originally 
addressed to him. 



ON A SCOTCH BARD. 



129 



But Och ! mankind are unco weak, 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake, 

It's rarely right adjusted! 

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, 

Their fate we should na censure, 
For still th' important end of life 

They equally may answer ; 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith hourl}^ stare him ; 
A man may tak a neebor's part, 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 

Aye free, aff han' your story tell, 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcely tell to ony ; 
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek thro' ev"ry other man, 

Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. 

The sacred lowe o' well-plac'd love. 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it; 
I wave the quantum o' the sin, 

The hazard o' concealing ; 
But Och ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling ! 

To catch dame Fortune's golden 
smile 

Assiduous wait upon her ; 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That's justify 'd by honor ; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge. 

Not for a train attendant ; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 



The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip, 

To haud the wretch in order ; 
But where ye feel your honor grip, 

Let that aye be your border : 
Its slightest touches, instant pause — 

Debar a' side pretenses ; 
And resolutely keep its laws, 

Uncaring consequences. 

The great Creator to revere, 

Must sure become the creature ; 
But still the preaching cant for- 
bear. 

And ev'n the rigid feature : 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An Atheist-laugh's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended ! 

When ranting round in pleasure's 
ring, 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or if she gie a random sting, 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're tempest- 
driv'n, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heaven 

Is sure a noble anchor ! 



Adieu, dear, amiable Youth ! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth, 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, ' ' God send 
you speed," 

Still daily to grow wiser; 
And may ye better reck the rede. 

Than ever did th' Adviser ! 



ON A SCOTCH BARD, GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. 



A' YE wha live by sowps o' drink, 
A' )^e wha live by crambo-clink, 
A' ye wha live an' never think, 

Come mourn wi" me ! 
Our billie's gi'en us a jink. 

An' owre the sea. 



Lament him a' ye rantin core, 
Wha dearly like a random-splore, 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar. 

In social key ; 
For now he's tacn anither shore, 

An' owre the sea ! 



* Burns when meditating emigration to the West Indies was in gloomy mood 
enough, and in this ode, although in it he mocks at fortune, there are not wanting 
touches of bitterness, which are all the more effective from the prevalent light- 
ness and gaiety by which they are surrounded. 



130 



TO A HAGGIS. 



The bonnie lasses weel may wiss liim, 
And in their dear petitions place him : 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless 
him, 

Wi' tearfu' e'e ; 
For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him 

That's owre the sea ! 

Fortune, they hae room to grum- 
ble! 
Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy 

bummle, 
Wha can do nought but fyke an' 
fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea ; 
But he was gleg as ony wumble. 
That's owre the sea ! 



Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear. 
An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear : 
'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I 
fear. 

In flinders flee ; 
He was her Laureat monie a year 

That's owre the sea ! 
He saw misfortune's cauld nor-west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A jillet brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be ! 
So, took a berth afore the mast. 

An' owre the sea. 



To tremble under Fortune's cum- 

mock, 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach. 

Could ill agree ; 
So, row't his hurdles in a hammock, 

An' owre the sea. 

He ne'er was gi'en to great mis- 

guidin'. 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hidin'. 

He dealt it free : 
The Muse was a" that he took pride 
in. 

That's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel. 
An' hap him in a cozie biel ; 
Ye'll find him ay' a daint}^ chiel, 

And fu' o' glee. 
He wad na wrang'd the vera deil. 

That's owre the sea. 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing 

billie! 
Your native soil was right ill-willie ; 
But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonnilie ! 
I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie, 

Tho' owre the sea ! 



TO A HAGGIS. 



Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race ! 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, orthairm: 
^Yeel are ye wordy o' a grace 

As lang's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill. 
Your hurdles like a distant hill. 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time o' need, 
AVhile thro' your pores the dews 
distill 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic labor dight. 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight. 



Trenching your gushing entrails 
bright 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin, rich! 

Then, horn for horn they stretch an' 

strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive. 
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes bely ve 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld guidman, maist like to 
rive, 

Bethankit hums. 

Is there that o'er his French ragout 
Or olio that wad staw a sow, 



A DEDICATION. 



131 



Or fricassee wad mak her spew 
Wi' perfect sconner, 

Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' 
view 

On sic a dinner ! 

Poor devil! see liim owre his trash, 

As feckless as a wither'd rash, 

His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, 

His nieve a nit : 
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 

O how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, 
The trembling earth resounds his 
tread. 



Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 

He'll mak it whissle; 
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will 
sued, 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your 

care, 
And dish them out their bill o' 

fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nae stinking 
ware 

That jaups in higgles; 
But, if you want her grate fu' prayer, 
Gie her a Haggis ! 



A DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 



Expect na. Sir, in this narration, 
A fleechin, fleth'rin Dedication, 
To roose you up, an' ca' you guid. 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid. 
Because ye're sirnam'd like his Grace, 
Perhaps related to the race ; 
Then when I'm tir'd — and sae are ye, 
Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie. 
Set up a face, how I stop short, 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 

This may do — maun do. Sir, wi' 

them wha 
Maun please the great folk for a 

wame-fou; 
For me ! sae laigh I needna bow. 
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough ; 
And when I downa yoke a naig. 
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg ; 
Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin. 
It's just sic Poet an' sic Patron. 

The Poet, some guid angel help 

him, 
Or else, I fear, some ill aue skelp 

him ! 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet. 
But only — he's no just begun yet. 

The Patron (Sir, ye maun forgie 
me, 
I winna lie, come what will o' me). 



On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be. 
He's just — nae better than he should 
be. 



I readily and freely grant, 
He downa see a poor man want ; 
What's no his ain he winna tak it, 
What ance he says he winna break it ; 
Aught he can lend he'll not refus't. 
Till aft his guidness is abus'd ; 
And rascals whyles that do him 

wrang, 
Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang : 
As master, landlord, husband, father, 
He does na fail his part in either. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' 

that ; 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
It's nacthing but a milder feature 
Of our poor, sinfu', corrupt nature: 
Ye'll get the best o' moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and pagaa 

Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 
That he's the poor man's friend in 

need. 
The gentleman in word and deed. 
It's no thro' terror of damnation ; 
It's just a carnal inclination. 

* The dedication to Gavin Hamilton, the poet's friend and patron, did not, as might 
have been expected, open the volume published at Kilmai'nock. It, however, finds 
its place in the body of the work. 



132 



A DEDICATION. 



Morality, thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vain is his hope, whase stay and 

trust is 
In moral mercy, truth, and justice ! 

No — stretch a point to catch a 

plack ; 
Abuse a brother to his back ; 
Steal thro' the winnock frae a whore. 
But point the rake that taks the door : 
Be to the poor like onie whunstane, 
And liaud their noses to the grun- 

stane, 
Ply ev'ry art, o' legal thieving ; 
No matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half- 
mile graces, 
Wi' weel-spread looves, an' lang, 

wry faces; 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan. 
And damn a' parties but your own ; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 

O ye wha leave the springs of 

Calvin, 
For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin ! 
Ye sons of heresy and error, 
Ye'll some day squeel in quaking 

terror ! 
"When" vengeance draws the sword in 

wrath, 
And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
When Ruin, with his sweeping be- 
som. 
Just frets till Heav'n commission 

gies him : 
While o'er the harp pale mis'ry^ 

moans, 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning 

tones. 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier 

groans ! 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digres- 
sion. 
I maist forgat my Dedication ; 
But when divinity comes 'cross me, 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft va- 
por, 
But I maturely thought it proper. 



When a' my works I did review, 
To dedicate them. Sir, to You : 
Because (ye need na tak it ill) 
1 thought them something like your- 
sel. 

Then patronize them wi' your 

favor. 
And your petitioner shall ever — 
I had amaist said, ever pray: 
But that's a word I need na say : 
For prayin I hae little skill o't ; 
I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched 

ill o't ; 
But I'se repeat each poor man's 

pray'r. 
That kens or hears about you, Sir. — 

"May ne'er misfortune's gowling 

bark 
Howl thro' the dwelling o' the 

Clerk! 
May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, 
For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! 
May Kennedy's far-honor'd name 
Lang beet his hymeneal flame, 
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen, 
Are frae their nuptial labors risen : 
Five bonnie lasses round their 

table, 
And seven braw fellows, stout an' 

able 
To serve their King and Country 

weel 
By word, or pen, or pointed steel! 
May health and peace, with mutual 

rays. 
Shine on the evening o' his days ; 
Till his wee, curlie John's ier-oe. 
When ebbing life nae mair shall 

flow. 
The last, sad, mournful rites be- 
stow ! " 

I will not wind a lang conclusion, 
Wi' complimentary effusion: 
But whilst your wishes and en- 
deavors 
Are blest with Fortune's smiles and 

favors, 
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fer- 
vent. 
Your much indebted, humble ser- 
vant. 



TO A LOUSE. 



133 



But if (which Pow'rs above pre- 
vent) 
That iron-hearted carl, Want, 
Attended in his grim advances. 
By sad mistakes, and black mis- 
chances. 
While hopes, and joj^s, and pleasures 

fly him. 
Make you as poor a dog as I am. 
Your humble servant then no more ; 



For who would humbly serve the 

poor ? 
But, by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n ! 
While recollection's pow'r is given, 
If, in the vale of humble life, 
The victim sad of fortune's strife, 
I, thro' the tender gushing tear. 
Should recognize my Master dear. 
If friendless, low, we meet together. 
Then, Sir, your hand — my Friend 

and Brother ! 



TO A LOUSE, ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET, 
AT CHURCH. 



Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin 

ferlie ! 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strunt rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
The' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sin- 
ner. 
How dare ye set your fit upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ! ^ 
Gae somewhere else, and seek your 
dinner 

On some poor body. 

Swith. in some beggar's haffet squat- 
tie; 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, 

and sprattle 
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, 

In shoals and nations ; 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare un- 
settle 

Your thick plantations. 

Now hand ye there, ye're out o' sight, 
Below the fatt'rels, snug an' tight ; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye'U no be right 
Till ye've got on it, 



The vera tapmost, tow'ring height 
O' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your 

nose out. 
As plump and gray as onie grozet; 

for some rank, mercurial rozet. 

Or fell, red smeddum, 
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, 

Wad dress your droddum ! 

1 wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy; 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On's wyliecoat ; 
But Miss's fine Lunardi ! fie, 
■ How daur ye do't ? 

O, Jenny, dinna toss your head. 
An' set your beauties a' abread ! 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin ! 
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, 

Are notice takin ! 

O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us 
To see oursels as others see us ! 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us 

And foolish notion : 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e 
us, 

And ev'n Devotion ! 



* The " lady " referred to in this line was, Mr. Chambers informs us, a village 
belle. He adds that her name was well known in Mauchline. 



134 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 



Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's 
feet 
Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly scatter'd 
flow'rs, 
As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring 
hours, 
I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 

Here Wealth still swells the golden 
tide, 

As busy Trade his labors plies ; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendor rise ; 
Here Justice, from her native skies. 

High wields her balance and her 
rod; 
There Learning with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind. 

With open arms the stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral 
mind. 

Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail. 

Or modest merit's silent claim : 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name ! 

Thy daughters bright thy walks 
adorn, 
Gay as the gilded summer sky, 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn. 
Dear as the raptur'd thrill of 
joy! 
Fair Burnet^ strikes th' adoring eye. 
Heaven's beauties on my fancy 
shine ; 
I see the Sire of Love on high, 
And own his work indeed divine ! 



There watching high the least alarms, 
Thy rough, rude fortress gleams 
afar; 
Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms, 
And mark'd with many a seamy 
scar: 
The pond'rous wall and massy bar. 
Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock, 
Have oft withstood assailing war. 
And oft repell'd the invader's 
shock. 

With awestruck thought, and pity- 
ing tears, 
I view that noble, stately dome, 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 
Fam'd heroes, had their royal 
home: 
Alas, how chang'd the times to come ! 
Their royal name low in the dust! 
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring 
roam ! 
Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just ! 

Wild beats my heart, to trace your 
steps, 
Whose ancestors, in days of yore. 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore, 
Haply my sires have left their 
shed, 
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar, 
Bold-following where your fathers 
led! 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs. 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd 
flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd. 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 



^ This Address was written in Edinburgh in 1786 
2 '' Fair Burnet " was the daughter of Lord Monboddo. 
her was intense. 



Burns's admiration for 



EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK. 



135 



EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK, AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. 

April 1, 1785. 



While briers an' v^oodbines budding 

green, 
An' paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, 
An' morning poussie whiddin seen, 

Inspire my Muse, 
This freedom, in an unknown frien', 

I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-een we had a rockin, 
To ca' the crack and weave our stock- 
in; 
And there was muckle fun and jokin, 

Ye need na' doubt ; 
At lengtli we had a hearty yokin 

At sang about. 

There was ae sang, amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some swe^t wife : 
It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the 
breast, 

A' to the life. 

I've scarce heard aught describ'd sae 

weel, 
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; 
Thought I, ' ' Can this be Pope, or 
Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark ! " 
They told me 'twas an odd kind chiel 
About Muirkirk. 

It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't, 
And sae about him there I spier't ; 
Then a' that ken'd him round declar'd 

He had ingine, 
That nane excell'd it, few cam 
near't. 

It was sae fine. 

That, set him to a pint of ale, 
An' either douce or merry tale, 
Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made him- 
sel, 

1 " The Epistle to John Lapraik was produced," says Gilbert Burns, "exactly on 
the occasion described bv the author. It was at one of these rockings at our house, 
when we had twelve or fifteen young people with their rocks, that Lapraik's song, 
beginning, ' W'hen I upon thy bosom lean,' Avas sung, and we were informed who was 
*he author. Upon this Robert wrote his first epistle to Lapraik ; and his second 
was in reply to his answer." 



Or witty catches, 
'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, 
He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, 
Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and 

graith. 
Or die a cadger pownie's death. 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith 

To hear your crack. 

But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo-jingle fell, 

Tho' rude an' rough, 
Yet crooning to a body's sel. 

Does weel enough. 

I am nae Poet, in a sense, 

But just a Rhymer, like, by chance, 

An' hae to learning nae pretense. 

Yet, what the matter ? 
Whene'er my Muse does on me 
glance, 

I jingle at her. 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, "How can you e'er pro- 
pose, 
You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 

To mak a sang ? " 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes. 

Ye're maybe wrang. 

What's a' your jargon o' your schools. 
Your Latin names for horns an* 

stools ; 
If honest nature made you fools, 

Whatsairsyourgrammars ! 
Ye'd better ta'en up spades and 
shools. 

Or knappin -hammers. 



136 



EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK. 



A set o' dull, conceited hashes, 
Confuse their brains in college 

classes ! 
They gang in stirks, and come out 



Plain truth to speak ; 
An' syne they think to climb Par- 
nassus 

By dint o' Greek ! 

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire. 
That's a' the learning I desire ; 
Then tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire 

At pleugh or cart. 
My Muse, though hamely in attire, 

May touch the heart. 

for a spunk o' Allan's glee. 

Or Fergusson's, the bauld an' slee, 
Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be. 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be lear eneugh for me. 

If I could get it. 

Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I b'lieve, are few. 
Yet, if your catalogue be fou, 

I'se no insist. 
But gif ye want ae friend that's true, 

I'm on your list. 

1 winna blaw about mysel, 
As ill I like my f auts to tell ; 

But friends, an' folks that wish me 
well 

They sometimes roose me ; 
Tho' I maun own, as monie still 

As far abuse me. 

There's ae wee faut they whyles lay 

to me, 
I like the lasses — Gude f orgie me ! 
For monie a plack they wheedle f rae 

me. 



At dance or fair; 
Maybe some ither thing they gie me 
They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline race, orMauchline fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there*, 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care, 

If we forgather, 
An' hae a swap o' rhymin-ware 

Wi' ane anither. 

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him 

clatter, 
An' kirsen him wi' reekin water ; 
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our 
w^hitter. 

To cheer our heart ; 
An' faith, we'se be acquainted better 
Before we part. 

Awa' ye selfish, warly race, 

Wha think that havins, sense, an' 

grace, 
Ev'n love an' friendship, should give 
place 

To catch-the- plack ! 
I dinna like to see your face. 

Nor hear your crack. 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness 

warms. 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

"Each aid the others," 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms. 

My friends, my brothers ! 

But to conclude my lang epistle, 
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle; 
Twa lines f rae you wad gar me fissle, 

Who am, most fervent. 
While I can either sing, or whissle. 

Your friend and servant. 



TO THE SAME. 

April 12, 1785. 



While new-ca'd kye rowte at the 

stake. 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik. 
This hour on e'enin's edge I take. 
To own I'm debtor, 



To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, 
For his kind letter, 

Forjesket sair, with weary legs, 
Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs, 



EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK. 



137 



Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 
Their ten-hours' bite, 

My awkart Muse sair pleads and begs, 
I would na write. 

The tapetless, ramfeezl'd hizzie, 
She's saft at best, and something lazy, 
Quo' she, "Ye ken, we've been sae 
busy, 

This month an' mair, 
That trouth my head is grown quite 
dizzie, 

An' something sair," 

Her dowff excuses pat me mad ; 

" Conscience," says I, " Ye thowless 

jad! 
I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud. 

This vera night; 
So dinna ye affront your trade. 
But rhyme it right. 

"Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' 

hearts, 
Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, 
Roose you sae weel for your deserts. 

In terms sae friendly. 
Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts 

An' thank him kindly ! " , 

Sae I gat paper in a blink. 

An' down gaed stumpie in the ink: 

Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 

I vow I'll close it : 
An' if ye winna mak it clink, 

By Jove I'll prose it ! " 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither, 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly 
neither, 

Let time mak proof ; 
But I shall scribble down some blether 

Just clean aff-loof. 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' 

carp 
Tho' fortune use you hard and sharp : 
pome, kittle up your moorland harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ke'er mind how fortune waft an' 
warp: 

She's but a bitch. 



She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg. 
Sin' I could striddle owre a rig; 
But, by the Lord, tho' I should beg 

WV lyart pow, 
I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg, 

As lang's I dow ! 

Now comes the sax an' twentieth 

simmer, 
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer, 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year : 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, 

I, Rob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city Gent, 

Behind a kist to lie an' sklent, 

Or purse-proud, big wi' cent per cent ; 

An' mucklc wame. 
In some bit Brugh to represent 

A Bailie's name? 

Or is 't the paughty, feudal Thane, 
Wi' rufil'd sark an' glancing cane. 
What thinks himsel nae sheep-shank 
bane. 

But lordly stalks, 
While caps aud bonnets aff are taen, 
As by he walks? 

" O Thou wha gies us each guid gift ! 

Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift. 

Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

Thro' Scotland wide; 
Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, 

In a' their pride ! " 

Were this the charter of our state, 
" On pain o' hell be rich an' great," 
Damnation then would be our fate, 

Beyond remead ; 
But, thanks to Heaven ! that's no the 
gate 

We learn our creed. 

For thus the royal mandate ran, 
When first the human race began, 
" The social, friendly, honest man, 

Whate'er he be, 
'Tis he fulfils great nature's plan, 

And none but he ! " 

O mandate glorious and divine ! 
'^}y^ followers of the ragged Nine, 



138 



TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 



Poor, thoughtless devils! yet may 
shine 

In glorious light, 
While sordid sons of Mammon's line 

Are dark as night. 

Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, 

an' growl, 
Their worthless nievefu' of a soul 
May in some future carcass howl, 
The forest's fright ; 



Or in some day -detesting owl 
May shun the light. 

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise, 
To reach their native, kindred skies. 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' 
joys 

In some mild sphere, 
Still closer knit in friendship's 
ties 

Each passing year ! 



TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 

OCHILTREE. 



May, 1785. 



I GAT your letter, winsome Willie ; 
Wi' gratef u' heart I thank you braw- 

lie; 
Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly. 

An' unco vain, 
Should I believe, my coaxin billie. 

Your flatterin strain. 

But I'se believe ye kindly mean it, 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented 

On my poor Musie ; 
Tho' in sic phrasin terms ye' ve penn'd 
it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel, 
Should I but dare a hope to speel, 
Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield, 

The braes o' fame ; 
Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel, 

A deathless name. 

(O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 
III suited law's dry, musty arts ! 
My curse upon your whunstane 
hearts. 

Ye Enbrugh Gentry ! 
The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes 

Wad stow'd his pantry !) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 
Or lasses gie my heart a screed. 
As whiles they're like to be my dead, 

(O sad disease !) 
I kittle up my rustic reed ; 

It gies me ease. 



Auld Coila, now, may fidge fu' fain. 
She's gotten Poets o' her ain, 
Chiels wha their chanters winnahain, 

But tune their lays. 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Na€ Poet thought her worth his 

while, 
To set her name in measur'd style ; 
She lay like some unkend-of isle. 

Beside New Holland, 
Or where wild -meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Ramsay an' famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth an" Tay a lift aboon ; 
Yarrow an' Tweed, to mony a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings. 
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon, 

Naebody sings. 

Th' Ilissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, 
Glide sweet in mony a tunefu' line ! 
But, Willie, set your fif to mine, 

An' cock your crest, 
We'll gar our streams an' burnies 
shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' fells. 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather 

bells. 
Her banks an' braes, her dens an' 

dells, 

Where glorious Wallace 



* William Simpson was the schoolmaster of Ochiltree parish. 



TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 



139 



Aft bure the gree, as story tells, 

Frae Soutlirou billies. 

At Wallace' name, what Scottish 

blood 
But boils up iu a spriug-tide flood! 
Oft liav^e our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace' side, 
Still pressing onward, red-wat-shod, 

Or glorious died. 

O, sweet are Coila's haughs an' 

woods. 
When lintwhites chant amang the 

buds. 
And jinkin hares, in amorous whids, 

Their loves enjoy. 
While thro' the braes the cushat 
croods 

Wi' wailf u' cry ! 

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me 
When winds rave thro' the naked 

tree, 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray ; 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, 

Dark'ning the day ! 

O Nature ! a' thy shows an' forms 
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms ! 
Whether the summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an' light, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms. 

The lang, dark night ! 

The muse, nae Poet ever fand her. 
Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trottin burn's meander. 

An' no think lang ; 
O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang ! 

The warly race may drudge an' drive, 
Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch, an' 

strive. 
Let me fair iTature's face descrive. 

And I, wi' pleasure. 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum owre their treasure 

Farewell, " my rhyme-composing 

brither ! '' 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to 

ither : 
1^0 w let us \aj our heads thegither, 



In love fraternal : 
May Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend, infernal ! 

While Highlandmen hate tolls an' 

taxes: 
While moorlan' herds like guid, fat 

braxies ; 
While Terra Firma, on her axis, 

Diurnal turns. 
Count on a friend, in faith an' prac- 
tice. 

In Robert Bums. 



POSTSCRIPT, i 

My memory's no worth a preen ; 
I had amaist forgotten clean. 
Ye bade me write you what they 
mean 

By this New-Light, 
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae 
been 

Maist like to fight. 

In days when mankind were but 

callans 
At grammar, logic, an' sic talents, 
They took nae pains their speech to 
balance. 

Or rules to gie. 
But spak their thoughts iu plain, 
braid Lallans, 

Like you or me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the 

moon. 
Just like a sark, or pair 'o shoon. 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon, 

Gaed past their viewin, 
An' shortly after she was done, 

The}" gat a new one. 

This past for certain, undisputed ; 
It nc^'er cam i', their heads to doubt it, 
Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, 

An' ca'd it wrang; 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Both loud an' lang. 

1 The postscript to the fore^oinp: " Epis- 
tle " may be considered as a pendant to 
" The Twa Herds,'" which was making 9 
noise in Ayrshire at the time, 



140 



TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 



Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the 

beuk, 
Wad threap auld folk the thing mis- 

teuk; 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd 
a neuk, 

An out o' sight, 
An' backlins-comin, to the leuk, 

She grew mair bright. 

This was deny'd, it was afRrm'd ; 
The herds an' hissels were alarm'd : 
The rev 'rend gray-beards rav'd an' 
storm'd, 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were in- 
form'd 

Than their auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an' aiths to clours an' 

nicks ; 
An' monie a fallow gat his licks, 
Wi' hearty crunt ; 
An' some, to learn them for their 
tricks, 

Were hang'd an' brunt. 

This game was play'd in monie lands. 
An' Auld-light caddies bure sic hands. 
That, faith, the youngsters took the 
sands ; 

Wi' nimble shanks. 
The lairds forbad, by strict com- 
mands. 

Sic bluldy pranks. 

But New -light herds gat sic a cowe. 
Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an- 

stowe. 
Till now amaist on ev'ry knowe 



Ye'll find ane plac'd ; 
An' some, their New-light fair avow, 
Just quite barefac'd, 

Nae doubt the Auld-light flocks are 

bleatin ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' 

sweatin ; 
Myself, I've even seen them greetin 

Wi' girnin spite, 
To hear the moon sae sadly lie'd on 
By word an' write. 

But shortly they will cowe the 

louns ! 
Some Auld-light herds in neebor 

towns 
Are mind't, in things they call bal- 
loons 

To tak a flight, 
An' stay ae month amang the moons, 
An' see them right. 

Guid observation they will gie them ; 
An' when the auld moon's gaun to 

lea'e them, 
The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it 
wi' them. 

Just i' their pouch, 
An' when the New-light billies see 
them, 

I think they'll crouch ! 

Sae, ye observe fchf.t a' this clatter 
Is naething but a " moonshine mat 

ter " ; 
But tho' dull-prose folk Latin splat- 
ter 

In logic tulzie, 
I hope, we Bardies ken some better 
Than mind sic brulzie. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKINE. 



141 



EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKINE,i 



ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 



O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Ran- 

kine, 
The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin ! 
There's monie godly folks are thinkin, 

Your dreams ^ an' tricks 
Will send you, Korali-like, a-sinkin, 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Ye liae sae monie cracks an' cants, 
And in your wicked, druken rants, 
Ye make a devil o' the saunts, 

An' fill tliem fou ; 
And then their failings, flaws, an' 
wants. 

Are a' seen thro', 

Hypocrisy, in merc}^ spare it ! 
That holy robe, O dinna tear it ! 
Spare't for their sakes wha aften 
wear it, 

The lads in black ; 
But your curst wit, when it comes 
near it, 

Rives't aff their back. 



Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're 

skaithiug. 
It's just the blue-gown badge an' 

claithing 
O' saunts; tak that, ye lea'e them 
naithing 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate heathen 
Like you or I. 



I've sent you here some rhyming 

ware, 
A' that I bargain'd for, an' mair ; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect, 
Yon sang, 3 ye'll sen't, wi' cannie care, 

And no neglect. 

Tho', faith, sma' heart hae I to sing! 
My Muse dow scarcely spread her 

wing ! 
I've play'd mysel a bonnie spring, 

An' danc'd ni}- fill ! 
I'd better gaen an' sair't the king 

At Bunker's Hill. 

'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, 

I gaed a roving wi' the gun, 

An' brought a paitrick to the grun, 

A bonnie hen, 
And, as the twilight was begun. 

Thought nane wad ken. 

The poor, wee thing, was little hurt ; 

I straikit it a wee for sport, 

Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't; 

But, Deil-ma-care ! 
Somebody tells the poacher- court 

The hale affair. 

Some auld, us'd haods had ta'en a 

note. 
That sic a hen had got a shot ; 
I was suspected for the plot ; 
I scorn'd to lie ; 



1 John Rankine lived at Adam-hill, in Ayrshire ; he was a man of much humor, 
and was one of Burns's earliest friends. 

2 A certain humorous di-eam of his was then making noise in the country-side. 
R. B. Of this dream the substance is thus related by Allan Cunningham. "Lord 

K was in the habit of calling his familiar acquaintances ' brutes ' or ' damned 

brutes.' One day meeting Rankine, his lordship said, ' Brute, are ye dumb ? have 
ye no queer story to tell us ? ' 'I have nae story,' said Rankine, ' but last night I had 
an odd dream.' ' Out with it, by all means,' said the other. ' Aweel, ye see,' said Ran- 
kine, 'I dreamed that I was dead, and that for keeping other than good company on 
earth, I was damned. When I knocked at hell-door, wha should open it but the deil ; 
he was in a rough humor, and said, "Wha may yoii be. and whafs your name?" 
"My name," quoth I, "is John Rankine, and my dwelling-place was Adam-hill." 

"Gi wa' wi'," quoth Satan, "ye canna be here: yer ane of Lord K 's damned 

brutes : Hell's fou o' them already ! " ' •' This sharp rebuke, it is said, polished for 
the future his lord.ship's speech. The trick alluded to in the same line was Rankine's 
making tipsy one of the " unco gude." 

^ A song he had promised the author. 



142 



WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE. 



So gat the whissle o' my groat, 
An' pay't the fee. 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale, 
An' by my pouther an' my hail, 
An' by my hen, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear ! 
The game shall pay, o'er moor an' 
dale. 

For this, niest year. 

As soon's the clockin-time is by, 
An' the wee pouts begun to cry. 
Lord, I'se hae sportin by an' by. 
For my gowd guinea ; 



Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye 
For't, in Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to 

blame ! 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three draps about the wame 

Scarce thro' the feathers ; 
An' baith a yellow George to claim, 

An' thole their blethers ! 

It pits me aye as mad's a hare ; 

So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 

But pennyworths again is fair, 

When time's expedient: 
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 

Your most obedient. 



WKITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE,i 



ON NITH-SIDE. 



Thou whom chance may hither lead. 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt in silken stole. 
Grave these counsels on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most. 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour. 
Fear not clouds will always lour. 

As Youth and Love, with sprightly 
dance, 
Beneath thy morning star advance. 
Pleasure with her syren air 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup. 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian flaming nigh. 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou 

scale ? 
Check thy climbing step, elate, 
Evils lurk in felon wait: 
Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold, 
Soar around each cliffy hold, 
While cheerful Peace, with linnet 

song. 
Chants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of ev'ning close, 
Beck'ning thee to long repose ; 
As life itself becomes disease. 
Seek the chimney -nook of ease. 



There ruminate with sober thought, 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and 

wrought ; 
And teach the sportive younkers 

round. 
Saws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say, man's true, genuine estimate, 
The grand criterion of his fate. 
Is not — art thou high or low ? 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? 
Did many talents gild thy span ? 
Or frugal Nature grudge thee one ? 
Tell them, and press it on their 

mind. 
As thou thyself must shortly find. 
The smile or frown of awful Heav'n 
To Virtue or to Vice is giv'n. 
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise. 
There solid self -enjoyment lies; 
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways, 
Lead to be wretched, vile, and 

base. 
Thus resign'd and quiet, creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 
Night, where dawn shall never break, 
Till future life, future no more. 
To light and joy the good restore, 
To light and joy unknown before. 

Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide 
Quod the Beadsman of Nith-side. 

^ Friar's Carse was the estate of Captain Riddel, of Glenriddel, beautifully situated 

d 



ip 
on the banks of the Nith, near Ellisland 
which the proprietor had erected. 



The Hermitage was a decorated cottage, 



ODE. 



H3 



Glenriddel Hermitage, June 28th, 1788' 

FROM THE MS. 



Thou whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad ia russet weed, 
Be thou deckt iu silken stole. 
Grave these maxims on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; 
Hope not sunshine every hour. 
Fear not clouds will always lour. 
Happiness is but a name, 
Make content and ease thy aim. 
Ambition is a meteor gleam, 
Fame, an idle restless dream, 
Peace, the tenderest flower of spring 
Pleasures, insects on the wing ; 



Those that sip the dew alone. 
Make the butterflies thy own ; 
Those that ^vouId the bloom devour, 
Crush the locusts, save the flower. 
For the future be prepar'd. 
Guard, wherever thou canst guard; 
But thy utmost duly done. 
Welcome what thou canst not shun. 
Follies past give thou to air. 
Make their consequence thy care • 
Keep tlie name of Man in mind, 
And dishonor not th}'- kind. 
Reverence, with lowly heart, 
Him whose wondrous work thou art : 
Keep His goodness still in view. 
Thy Trust, and Thy Example too. 
Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide ! 
Quod the Beadsman of Nithe-side. 



ODE, SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. OSWALD.i 



Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation, mark ! 
Who in widow-weeds appears, 
Laden with unhonor'd years. 
Noosing with care a bursting 

purse. 
Baited with many a deadly curse ! 



STROPHE. 

View the wither'd beldam's face — 
Can thy keen inspection trace 
Aught of humanity's sweet melting 

grace? 
Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows, 
Pity's flood there never rose. 
See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to 

save. 
Hands that took — but never gave. 
Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 
Lo, there she goes, unpitied and un- 

blest 
She goes, but not to realms of ever- 
lasting rest ! 



ANTISTROPHE. 

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes, 
(Awhile forbear, ye tort'ring fiends,) 
Seest thou whose step unwilling 

hither bends? 
No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper 

skies ; 
'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 
Doom'd to share thy fiery fate, 
She, tardy, he 11- ward plies. 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail. 

Ten thousand glitt'ring pounds a 
year ? 

In other worlds can Mammon fail, 

Omnipotent as he is here ? 

O, bitter mock'ry of the pompous 
bier. 

While down the wretched vital part 
is driv'n ! 

The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a con- 
science clear, 

Expires in rags, unknown, and goes 
to Heav'n. 



1 The subject of this ode was the widow of Richard Oswald, Esq., of Auchincruive. 
She died December 6, 1788. 



144 



ELEGY. 



ELEGY ON CAPT. MATTHEW HENDERSON. 

A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HONORS IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD- 



But noio his radiant course is run, 
For Mattheio''s course ivas bright 

H^s soul was like the glorious sun, 
A matchless, Heavenly Light. 



O Death ! tliou tyrant fell and bloody ! 
The meikle devil wi' a woodie 
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, 

O'er hurcheon hides, 
And like stock-fish come o'er his 
studdie 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 

He's gane, he's gane! he's frae us 

torn, 
The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 
Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall 
mourn 

By wood and wild. 
Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 
Frae man exil'd. 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns. 
That proudly cock your cresting 

cairns ! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing earns. 

Where echo slumbers! 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest 
bairns, 

My wailing numbers ! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 
Ye haz'Uy shaws and briery dens ! 
Yeburnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin din, 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens, 

Frae lin to lin. 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lee ; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie. 

In scented bow'rs ; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o' flow'rs. 



At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 
Droops with a diamond at his head. 
At ev'n, when beans their fragrance 
shed, 

r th' rustling gale. 
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, 
Come join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Y^e curlews calling thro' a clud; 

Ye whistling plover; 
And mourn, ye whirring pai trick 
brood ; 

He's gane for ever ! 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled 

teals, 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Y^e bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' 

day, 
'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay ; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore. 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay. 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r. 
In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r. 
What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r. 

Sets up her horn. 
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 

Till waukrif e morn ! 



» In February, 1791, Burns wrote respecting this poem: "The Elegy on Captain 
Henderson is a tribute to the memory of a man I loved much. ... As almost all my 
reUgious tenets originate from my heart, I am wonderfully pleased with the idea 
that I can still keep up a tender intercourse with the dearly beloved friend, or 
Still more dearly beloved mistress, who is gone to the world of spirits." 



ELEGY. 



145 



O rivers, forests, hills, and plains! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains. 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe ; 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow. 



thou darling of the 



Mourn, spring, 

year! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
Thou, simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head. 
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, 

For him that's dead ! 

Thou, autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost ! 

Mourn him, thou sun, great source 

of light ! 
Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies 
bright. 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's ta'en his 
flight. 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone forever ? 
And hast thou crest that unknown 
river, 

Life's dreary bound ? 
Like thee, where shall I find another. 

The world around ? 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye 

Great, 
In a' the tinsel trash 0' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait. 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 



THE EPITAPH.^ 

Stop, passenger ! my story's brief, 
And truth I shall relate, man ; 

I tell nae common tale o' grief. 
For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast. 

Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man ; 

A look of pity hither cast. 
For Matthew was a poor man. 

If thou a noble sodger art, 
That passest by this grave, man, 

There molders liere a gallant heart ; 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and 
ways, 
Canst throw uncommon light, 
man; 
Here lies wha weel had won thy 
praise, 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 
Wad life itself resign, man ; 

The sympathetic tear maun fa'. 
For Matthew was a kind man. 

If thou art staunch without a stain, 
Like the unchanging blue, man ; 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain. 
For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, 
And ne'er gude wine did fear, man ; 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire, 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If on'y whiggish whingin sot. 
To blame poor Matthew dare, man 

May dool and sorrow be his lot. 
For Matthew was a rare man. 



^ Readers curious in the transmission of poetic ideas may amuse themselves by 
comparinec this epitaph with Wordsworth's PoeVs Epitaph. 



146 



TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ. 



LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH 
OF SPRING. 1 



Now Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree, 
And spreads her sheets o' daisies 
white 
Out-owre the grassy lea: 
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal 
streams, 
And glads the azure skies; 
But naught can glad the weary 
wight 
That fast in durance lies. 

Now laverocks wake the merry morn. 

Aloft on dewy wing; 
The merle, in his noontide bow'r, 

Makes woodland echoes ring; 
The mavis mild wi' many a note. 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi' care nor thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank, 

The primrose down the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

Tnd milk-white is the slae ; 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 

I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 
Where happy I liae been, 

Fu' lightly rase I in the morn, 
Ts blythe lay down at e'en: 

And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, 
And mony a traitor there ; 



Yet here I lie in foreign bands, 
And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman. 

My sister and my fae, 
Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a 
sword 
That thro' thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's 
breast 
Was never known to thee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds 
of woe 
Frae woman's pitying ee. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those pleasures gild thy 
reign. 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Or turn their hearts to thee. 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's 
friend, 

Remember him for me ! 

Oh ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 
Nae mair light up the morn ! 

Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 
Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 

And in the narrow house o' death 
Let winter round me rave ; 

And the next tiow'rs that deck the 
spring 

Bloom on my peaceful grave ! 



EPISTLE TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ.2 

When Nature her great master-piece design'd, 
And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind, 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan. 
She form'd of various parts the various man. 

1 Writing to Mrs. Graham, of Fintry, Burns says, " Whether it is that the story 
of our Mary, Queen of Scots, has a peculiar effect on the f eeUngs of a poet, or whether 
I have in the enclosed ballad succeeded beyond my usual poetic success, I know 
not : but it has pleased me beyond any effort of my muse for a good while past : 
on that account I enclose it particularly to you." 

'Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry, was one of the Commissioners of Excise. 
Burns met him at the house of the Duke of Athole. The " Epistle " Avas the poet's 
earliest attempt in the manner of Pope. It has its merits, of course ; but it lacks 
the fire, ease, and sweetness of his earlier Epistles to Lapraik, Smith, and others. 



TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ. I47 



Then first she calls the useful many forth ; 
Plain plodding industry, and sober worth: 
Then peasants, farmers, native sons of earth, 
And merchandise' whole genus take their birth: 
Each prudent cit a warm existence finds, 
And all mechanics' many-apron 'd kinds. 
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet, 
The lead and buoy are needful to the net : 
The caput mortuum of gross desires 
Makes a material for mere knights and squires; 
The martial phosphorus is taught to flow, 
She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough, 
Then marks the unyielding mass with grave designs, 
Law, physic, politics, and deep divines: 
Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles, 
The flashing elements of female souls. 

The order'd system fair before her stood, 
Nature, well-pleas'd, pronouuc'd it very good; 
But ere she gave creating labor o'er, 
Half-jest, she try'd one curious labor more; 
Some spumy, fiery, ignis fatuus matter, 
Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter; 
With arch alacrity and conscious glee 
(Nature may have her whim as well as we, 
Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it) 
She forms the thing, and christens it — a Poet. 
Creature, tho' oft tlie prey of care and sorrow, 
When blest to-day, unmindful of to-morrow. 
A being form'd t' amuse his graver friends, 
Admir'd and prais'd — and there the homage ends: 
A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife, 
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life ; 
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give, 
Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live: 
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan, 
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk, 
She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor w^ork. 
Pitying'the propless climber of mankind, 
She cast about a standard tree to find ; 
And, to support his helpless woodbine state, 
Attach'd him to the generous truly great, 
A title, and the only one I claim, 
To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham. 

Pity the tuneful muses' hapless train. 
Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main! 
Their hearts no selHsh stern absoibont stuff. 
That never gives — tho' humbly takes enough; 
The little fate allows, ihey share as soon, 
Unlike sage, proverb'd, wisdom's hard wrung boon. 
The world were blest did bliss on them depend, 
Ah, that "the friendly e'er should want a friend!" 
Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son. 
Who life and wisdom at one race begun, 



148 TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. 

Who feel by reason, and who give by rule, 

(Instinct 's a brute, and sentiment a fool !) 

Who make poor "will do" wait upon "I should"— 

We own they're prudent, but who feels they're good? 

Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the social eye ! 

God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy ! 

But come ye, who the godlike pleasure know. 

Heaven's attribute distinguish'd — to bestow ! 

Whose arms of love would grasp the human race : 

Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace; 

Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes ! 

Prop of my dearest hopes for future times. 

Why shrinks my soul, half -blushing, half-afraid, 

Backward, abash'd to ask thy friendly aid ? 

I know my need, I know thy giving hand, 

I crave thy friendship at thy kind command ; 

But there are such who court the tuneful nine — 

Heavens! should the branded character be mine! 

Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows, 

Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. 

Mark, how their lofty independent spirit 

Soars on the spurning wing of injur'd merit! 

Seek not the proofs in private life to find ; 

Pity the best of words should be but wind ! 

So, to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song ascends. 

But groveling on the earth the carol ends. 

In all the clam'rous cry of starving want. 

They dun benevolence with shameless front; 

Oblige them, patronize their tinsel lays, 

They persecute you all your future days ! 

Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain, 

My horny fist assume the plough again; 

The piebald jacket let me patch once more; 

On eighteeen-pence a week I've liv'd before. 

Tho', thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last shift, 

I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift ; 

That, plac'd by thee upon the wisli'd-for height. 

Where, man and nature fairer in her sight, 

My muse may imp her wing for some sublimer flight. 

TO ROBERT GRAHAM, OF FINTRA, ESQ. 

Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg,i 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; 
Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest 
(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest): 
Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail ? 
(It soothes poor Misery, heark'ning to her tale,) 
And hear him curse the light he first survey 'd. 
And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade ? 

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign ; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 

1 " By a fall, not from my horse, but with my horse, I have been a cripple some 
time." Burns to Mrs. Dunlop, 7th February, 1791. 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. 149 



The lion and the bull thy care have found. 

One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground: 

Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 

Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell.— 

Thy minions, kings defend, control, devour, 

In all th' omnipotence of rule and power.— 

Foxes and statesmen, subtile wales ensure ; 

The cit and polecat stink, and are secure. 

Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, 

The priest and hedgehog in their robes, are snug. 

Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, 

Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts. 

But Oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard, 
To thy poor, fenceless, naked child— the Bard! 
A thing unteachable in world's skill. 
And half an idiot too, more helpless still. 
No heels to bear liim from the op'ning dun; 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun ; 
No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, 
And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn : 
No nerves olfact'ry. Mammon's trusty cur, 
Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable fur, 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride, 
He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side : 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 
Critics— appall'd I venture on the name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame, 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes, 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless, wanton malice w^'ung. 
By blockheads' daring into madness stung ; 
His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, 
By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear: 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd in th' unequal strife, 
The hapless Poet flounders on thro' life. 
Till tied each hope that once his bosom tir'd. 
And tied each Muse that glorious once inspir'd, 
Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age. 
Dead, even resentment, for his injur'd page. 
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage! 

So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceas'd. 
For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast; 
By toil and famine wore to skin and bone, 
Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's son. 

O Dulness! portion of the truly blest! 
Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest ! 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the tierce extremes 
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
If mantling high she fills the golden cup, 
With sober selfish ease they sip it up ; 
Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve. 
They only wonder " some folks" do not starve. 



ISO 



A LAMENT. 



The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. 
When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, 
And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, 
With deaf endurance sluggishly thej^ bear, 
And just conclude that " fools are fortune's care." 
So heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train. 
Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain; 
In equanimity they never dwell. 
By turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted hell. 

I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe, 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear! 
Already one strong-hold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears, 
And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
Oh! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r! 
Fintra, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown. 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
Give energy to life; and soothe his latest breath. 
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! 

LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN.i 



The wind blew hollow frae the hills, 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding 
stream : 
Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain. 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely taen. 

He lean'd him to an ancient aik. 
Whose trunk was mold'ring down 
with years ; 
His locks were bleached white wi' 
time. 
His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ; 
And as he touch'd his trembling harp, 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang, 
The winds, lamenting thro' their 
caves. 
To echo bore the notes alang. 

1 This nobleman, for whom the Poet had a deep respect, died at Falmouth, in his 
forty-second year. Burns wore mourning for the Earl, and designed to attend his 
funeral in Ayr^iire. He enclosed the poem to Lady Elizabeth Cunningham, sis- 
ter of the deceased nobleman. 



' ' Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 

The honors of the aged year ! 

A few short months, and glad and 
gay, 

Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 
But nocht in all revolving time 

Can gladness bring again to me. 

' ' I am a bending agM tree. 

That long has stood the wind and 
rain ; 
But now has come a cruel blast. 

And my last hold of earth is gane : 
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom; 
But I maun lie before the storm. 

And ithers plant them in my room. 

" I've seen so many changefu' years, 
On earth I am a stranger grown ; 



A LAMENT. 



151 



I wander in the ways of men, 
Alike unknowing and unknown: 

Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd, 
I bare alane my lade o' care. 

For silent, low, on beds of dust, 
Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

" And last (the sum of a' my griefs!) 

M}^ noble master lies in clay ; 
The flow'r ammg our barons bold. 

His country's pride, his country's 
stay: 
In weary being now I pine. 

For a' the life of life is dead. 
And hope has left my aged ken, 

On forward wing for ever fled. 

" Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! 

The voice of woe and wild despair ! 
Awake, resound thy latest lay, 

Then sleep in silence evermair! 
And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

That flUest an imtimel}^ tomb, 
Accept this tribute from the Bard 

Thou brought from fortune's mirk- 
est gloom. 

" In Poverty's low barren vale, 
Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me 
round ; 



Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 
No ray of fame was to be found : 

Thou found'st me, like the morning 
sun 
That melts the fogs in limpid air, 

The friendless Bard, and rustic song, 
Became alike thy fostering care. 

" O! why has worth so short a date? 

While villainsripen gray with time ! 
Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great. 

Fall in bold manhood's hardy 
prime ? 
Why did I live to see that day ? 

A day to me so full of woe? 
O ! had I met the mortal shaft 

Which laid my benefactor low ! 

" The bridegroom may forget the 
bride 
Was made his wedded wife j^es- 
treen ; 
The monarch may forget the crown 
That on his head an liour has been, 
The mother may forget the child 
That smiles sac sweetly on her 
knee ; 
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 
And a' that thou hast done for me ! " 



LINES SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OF WHITEFORD, 
BART., WITH THE FOREGOING POEM. 



Thou, who thy honor as thy God rever'st, 

Who, save thy mind's reproach, naught earthly fear'st, 

To thee this votive offering I impart. 

The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 

The friend thou valued'st, I, the Patron, lov'd; 

His worth, his honor, all the world approv'd. 

We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone, 

And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown. 



152 TAM O SHANTER. 



TAM O' SHANTERi 

A TALE. 

Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke. 

Gawin Douglas. 

When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 
As market-clays are wearing late, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An' getting fou and unco happy, 
We think na on the lang Scots miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 

1 " When my father," writes Gilbert Burns, '■'■ feued his little property near AUoway 
Kirk, the wall of the churchyard had gone to ruin, and cattle had free liberty of pas- 
ture in it. My father, with two or three other neighbors, joined in an application to 
the town council of Ayr, who were superiors of the adjoining land, for liberty to re- 
build it, and raised by subscription a sum for enclosing this ancient cemetery with 
a wall ; hence he came to consider it as his burial-place, and we learned that reverence 
for it people generally have for the burial-place of their ancestors. My brother was 
living at Ellisland, when Captain Grose on his pereginations through Scotland, stayed 
some time at Carse House, in the neighborhood, with Captain Robert Riddel, of Glen- 
riddel, a particular friend of my brother's. The Antiquarian and the Poet were ' unco 
pack and thick thegither.' Robert requested of Captain Grose, when he should come 
to Ayrshire, that he vvould make a drawing of Alloway Kirk, as it was the burial-place 
of his father, and where he himself had a sort of claim to lay down his bones when 
they should be no longer serviceable to him ; and added by way of encouragement, 
that it was the scene of many a good story of witches and apparitions, of which he 
knew the Captain was very fond. The Captain agreed to the request, provided 
the Poet would furnish a witch story, to be printed along with it. ' Tam o' Shan- 
ter ' was produced on this occasion, and was first published in ' Grose's Antiquities 
of Scotland.' " The following letter, sent by Burns to Captain Grose, deals with the 
witch stories that clustered round Alloway Kirk. 

" Among the many witch stories I have heard relating to Alloway Kirk, I dis- 
tinctly remember only two or three. 

" Upon a stormy night, amid whistling squalls of wind and bitter blasts of hail- 
in short, on such a night as the devil would choose to take the air in— a farmer, or a 
farmer's servant, was plodding and plashing homeward with his plough-irons on his 
shoulder, having been getting some repairs on them at a neighboring smithy. His way 
lay by the Kirk of Alloway. and being rather on the anxious lookout in approaching 
the place so well known to be a favorite haunt of the devil, and the devil's friends and 
emissaries, he was sti'uck aghast by discovering, through the horrors of the storm 
and stormy night, a light, which, on his nearer approach, plainly showed itself to pro- 
ceed from the haunted edifice. Whether he had been fortified from above on his 
devout supplication, as is customary with people when they suspect the immediate 
presence of Satan, or whether, according to another custom, he had got courageously 
drunk at the smithy, I will not pretend to determine ; bvit so it was, that he ventured 
to go up to— nay, into— the very Kirk. As luck would have it, his temerity came off 
unpunished. 

" The members of the infernal junto were all out on some midnight business or 
other, and he saw nothing but a kind of kettle or caldron, depending from the roof , 
over the fire, simmering some heads of unchristened children, limbs of executed male- 
factors, etc., for the business of the night. It was in for a penny, in for a pound, 
with the honest ploughman ; so, without ceremony, he unbooked the caldron from 



TAM O SHANTER. ' 1 53 



(Auld Aja-, wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and bonnie lasses.) 

O Tarn ! hadst thou but been sae wise, 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum, 
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober ; 
That ilka melder, Avi' the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gat roaring f ou on ; 
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. 

off the fire, and pouring out its damnable ingredients, inverted it on his head, and 
carried it fairly home, where it remained long in the family, a living evidence of the 
ti-uth of the story. 

" Another story which I can prove to be equally authentic, was as follows :— 

" On a market-day, in the town of Ayr, a fanner from Carrick, and consequently 
whose way lay by the very gate of Alloway Kirkyard. in order to cross the river Doon 
at the old bridge, which is about two or three hundred yards farther on than the 
said gate, had been detained by his business, till by the time he reached Alloway 
it was the wizard hour, between night and morning. 

" Though he was terrified with a blaze streaming from the Kirk, yet as it is a well- 
known fact, that to turn back on these occasions is running by far the greatest risk of 
mischief, he prudently advanced on his road. When he had reached the gate of the 
Kirkyard, he was surprised and entertained, through the ribs and arches of an old 
Gothic window, which still faces the highway, to see a dance of witches merrily foot- 
ing it round their old sooty blackguard master, who was keeping them all alive with 
the power of his bagpipe. The farmer, stopping his horse to observe them a little, 
could plainly descry the faces of many of his acquaintance and neighborhood. How 
the gentleman was dressed, tradition does not say, but that the ladies were all in their 
smocks ; and one of them happening unluckily to have a smock which was consider- 
ably too short to answer all the purposes of that piece of dress, our farmer was so 
tickled that he invohnitarily burst out, with a loud laugh, 'Weel looppen, Maggy wi' 
the short sark ! ' and recollecting himself, instantly spurred his horse to the top of his 
speed. I need not mention the universally known fact, that no diabolical power can 
pursue you beyond the middle of a running stream. Lucky it was for the poor 
farmer that the river Doon was so near, for notwithstanding the speed of his horse, 
which was a good one, against he reached the middle of the arch of the bridge, and 
consequently the middle of the stream, the pursuing, vengeful hags were so close 
at his heels, that one of them actually sprang to seize him : but it was too late ; noth- 
ing was on her side of the stream but the horse's tail, which immediately gave way at 
her infernal grip, as if blasted by a stroke of lightning ; but the farmer was beyond 
her reach. However, the unsightly, tailless condition of the vigorous steed was, to 
the last hours of the noble creature's life, an awful warning to the Carrick farmers 
not to stay too late in Avr markets." 

This letter is interesting, as showing the actual body of tradition on which Burns had 
to work— the soil out of which the consummate poem grew like a flower. And it is 
worthy of notice also how, out of the letter, some of the best things in the poem have 
come : " such a night as the devil would choose to take the air in " being, for instance, 
the suggestion of the couplet— 

That night a child might understand 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

It is pleasant to know that Burns thought well of " Tarn o' Shanter." 

To Mrs. Dunlop he wrote on the 11th April, 1791 :— "On Satui'day morning last Mrs. 
Burns made me a present of a fine boy, rather stouter, but not so handsome as your 
godson was at his time of life. Indeed, I look on your little namesake to be my chef- 
cVoenvre in that species of manufacture, as I look on ' Tarn o' Shanter ' to be my stand- 
ard performance in the poetical line. 'Tistrue, both the one and the other discover a 
spice of roguish waggery, that might, perhaps, be as well spared : but then they also 
show, in my opinion, a force of genius, and a finishing polish, that I despair of ever ex- 
pelling," 



154 TAM O' SHANTER. 



She prophesy'd tliat, late or soon, 

Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; 

Or catcli'd wi' warlocks In the mirk, 

By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet, 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
How mony lengthen'd, sage advices. 
The husband frae the wife despises! 
But to our tale : Ae market night, 
Tam had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely ; 
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The nights drave on wi' sangs and clatter; 
And ay the ale was growing better: 
The landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
Wi' favors, secret, sweet, and precious: 
The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy. 
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy: 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow-falls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts forever ; 
Or like the borealis race. 
That flit ere you can point their place ; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. — 
Nae man can tether time or tide ; — 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
And sic a night he taks the road in. 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; 
Loud, deep, and laug, the thunder bellow'd: 
That night, a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on iiis gray mare, Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, 
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire. 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 



TAM O SHANTER. 155 



Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet ; 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet ; 
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry. — 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the suaw, the chapman smoor'd ; 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane ; 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Where hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. — 
Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll : 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing ; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. — 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil ! — 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he car'd na deils a doddle. 
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, 
She ventur'd forward on the light ; 
And, vow ! Tarn saw an unco sight ! 
Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels. 
Put life and mettle in their heels. 
A winnock-bunker in the east. 
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; 
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, 
To gie them music was his charge : 
He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl. 
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. — 
Coffins stood round like open presses. 
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; 
And by some devilish cantrip slight 
Each in its cauld hand held a light, — 
By which heroic Tarn was able 
To note upon the lialy table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 
Twa span-laug, wee, unchristen'd bairns; 
A thief, new-cutted frae the rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted; 
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted; 



156 



A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft. 
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft ; 
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu'. 
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, 
And coost her duddies to the wark, 
And linket at it in her sark ! 

Now Tam, O Tam ! had they been queans, 
A' plump and strapping in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnenl 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair. 
That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdles, 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies ! 

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowping and flinging on a crummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tam kend what was what f u' brawlie, 
There was ae winsome wench and walie, 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kend on Carrick shore ; 
For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
And perish'd mony a bonnie boat. 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
And kept the country-side in fear,) 
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, 
That while a lassie she had worn, 
In longitude tho' sorely scanty. 
It was her best, and she was vauntie. — 
Ah! little kend thy reverend grannie. 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), 
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches ! 

But here my muse her wing maun cour; 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r ; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jade she was, and Strang,) 
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd, 
And thought his very een enrich'd ; 
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain. 
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tam tint his reason a' thegither, 
And roars out, "Weeldone, Cutty-sarkl" 
And in an instant all was dark : 



TAM O* SHANTER. 1 57 



And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's mortal foes, 
When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd. 
When, " Catch the thief! " resounds aloud; 
So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
Wi' monie an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Tarn! ah, Tarn! thou'll get thy fairinl 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! 
Kate soon will be a wof u' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane of the brig : 1 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they darena cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make. 
The fient a tail she had to shake ! 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle ; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain gray tail : 
The carlin caught her by the rump. 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read. 
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed, 
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remember Tarn O'Shanter's mare.^ 



* It is a well-known fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to fol- 
low a poor wight any further than the middle of the next running stream. It 
may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveler that when he falls in 
with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more 
hazard in turning back. R. B. 

2 "Tamo' Shauter," as already stated, appeared first in Captain Grose's " Anti- 
quities of Scotland." To the poem the editor appended the following note : "To 
my ingenious friend, Mr. Robert Burns, I have been seriously obligated ; for he was 
not only at the pains of making out what was most worthy of notice in Ayrshire, 
the county honored by his birth, but he also wrote expressly for this work the 
pretty tale annexed to Alloway Church." Grose's book appeared at the close of 
April, 1791, and he died in Dublin shortly after. 



158 



ON CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS. 



ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGKINATIONS 
THROUGH SCOTLAND, 

COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OP THAT KINGDOM. 



Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither 

Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groats ; — 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it : 
A chield's amang you. taking notes, 

And, faith, he'll prent it. 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 

Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, 

O' stature short, but genius bright, 

That's he, mark weel — 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel. 

By some auld, houlet-haunted big- 
gin,! 

Or kirk deserted by its riggin, 

It's ten to ane ye'U find him snug in 
Some eldritch part, 

Wi' deils, they say. Lord save's, 
colleaguin 

At some black art. — 

Ilk gliaist that haunts auld ha' or 

chamer, 
Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamour. 
And you deep read in hell's black 
grammar. 

Warlocks and witches, 
Ye'll quake at his con j uring hammer, 
Ye midnight bitches. 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred. 
And ane wad rather f a'n than fled ; 
But now he's quat the spurtle-blade, 

And dog-skin wallet, 
And taen the — Antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 



He has a f outh o' auld nick-nackets • 
Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets,* 
Wad baud the Lothians three in 
tackets, 

A towmont gude ; 
And parritch-pats, and auld saut- 
backets. 

Before the Flood. 

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
Auld Tubalcain's fire-shool and 

fender ; 
That which distinguished the gender 

O' Balaam's ass ; 
A broom-stick o' the witch ofEndor, 
Weel shod wi' brass. 

Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg 
The cut of Adam's philibeg ; 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll prove you fully. 
It was a faulding jocteleg, 

Or lang-kail gullie. — 

But wad ye see him in his glee. 
For meikle glee and fun has he. 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Gude fellows wi' him ; 
And port, O port ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye'll see him ! 

Now, by the Pow rs o verse and 

prose ! 
Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose ! — 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose. 

They sair misca' thee ; 
I'd take the rascal by the nose. 

Wad say, Shame fa' thee! 



1 Vide his " Antiquities of Scotland." R. B. 
2 Vide his " Treatise on Ancient Armor and Weapons." 



R. B. 



ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON. 



159 



ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, 



WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. 



[April, 1789.] 



Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art, 

And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; 

May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 

Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 

The bitter little that of life remains; 

No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest. 
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn. 

And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate.* 



ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, 

ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS. 



While virgin Spring, by Eden's 
flood. 

Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood. 

Or tunes Eolian strains between : 

While summer with a matron 
grace 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling 
shade. 
Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky blade ; 

While Autumn, benefactor kind, 
By Tweed erects his aged head, 

^Var. 

And curse the ruthless wretch, and mourn thy hapless fate. 

T^e changes in this poem were made on the suggestion of Dr. Gregory, to whom 
the Poet had sent a copy. 



And sees, with self -approving mind, 
Each creature on his bounty fed ; 

While maniac Winter rages o'er 
The hills whence classic Yarrow 
flows. 
Rousing the turbid torrent's roar. 
Or sweeping, wild, a waste of 
snows; 

So long, sweet Poet of the year, 
Shall bloom that wreath thou well 
hast won ; 

While Scotia, with exulting tear. 
Proclaims that Thomson was her 



i6o 



PETITION OF BRUAR WATER. 



TO MISS CRUIKSHANK, 



A VERY YOUNG LADY, 
WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAP OF A BOOK, PRESENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR. 



Beauteous rose-bud. young and gay, 
Blooming in thy early INIay. 
Never may'st thou, lovely Flow'r, 
Chill}'' shrink in sleety show'r ! 
Never Boreas' hoary path, 
Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, 
Never baleful stellar lights, 
Taint thee with untimely blights! 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf ! 
Nor even Sol too .tiercel}^ view 
Thy bosom blushing still with dew! 



May'st thou long, sweet crimson 
gem. 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
Till some evening, sober, calm, 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm. 
While all around the woodland rings, 
And every bird thy requiem sings; 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, 
Shed thy dying honors round, 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 



ON READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, 

THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ., 

BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S. 



Sad thy tale, thou idle page. 

And rueful thj' alarms: 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew 
The morning rose may blow; 

But cold successive noontide blasts 
]\Iay lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn, 
The sun propitious smil'd ; 

But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 
Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 



Fate oft tears the bosom chords 
That uatul'e finest strung : 

So Isabella's heart was form'd, 
And so that heart was wrung. 

Dread Omnipotence, alone. 
Can heal the wound He gave ; 

Can point the brimful grief- worn 
To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, 
And fear no withering blast ; 

There Isabella's spotless worth 
Shall happy be at last. 



THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER i TO THE 
NOBLE DUIvE OF ATHOLE. 



My Lord. I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble Slave complain, 
How saucy Pha^bus' scorching beams. 

In flaming summer-pride. 
Dry-withering, waste my foamy 
streams. 

And drink my crystal tide. 

1 Bruai- Falls, in Athole, are exceedingl 
is much impaired by the waut of trees and 



The lightly-jumping glowrin trouts, 

That thro' my waters play. 
If, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin stray ; 
If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up so shallow, 
They're left the whitening stanes 
ainang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 

y picturesque and beautiful, but their effect 
shrubs. R. B. 



PETITION OF BRUAR WATER. 



i6i 



Last day I grat \vi' spite and teen, 

As Poet Burns came by, 
That to a Bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Even as I was he shor'd me; 
But had I in my glory been. 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

Here, foaming down the shelvy 
rocks, 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent 
smokes, 

Wild-roarin o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well 

As Nature gave them me, 
I am, altho' I say't mysel. 

Worth gaun a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes. 
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring 
trees. 

And l)onnie spreading bushes. 
Delighted doul)ly then, my Lord, 

You'll wander on my banks. 
And listen monie a grateful bird, 

Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober laverock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink. Music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir: 
The blackbird strong, the lint white 
clear, 

The mavis mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive Autumn cheer. 

In all her locks of yellow : 

This, too, a covert shall ensure, 
To shield them from the storm ; 



And coward maukin sleep secure. 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall thesheplierd make his seat, 

To weave his crown of tlow'rs; 
Or find a sheltering safe retreat. 

From prone-descending show'rs. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 

Shall meet the loving pair. 
Despising worlds with all their 
wealth 

As empty, idle care: 
Tlie tlow'rs shall vie in all their charm 

The hour of heav'n to grace. 
And birks extend their fragrant arms, 

To screen the dear embrace. 

Here haply too, at vernal dawn, 

Some musing bard may stray. 
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn, 

And misty mountain, gray ; 
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam. 

Mild-chequering thro' the trees. 
Have to my darkly -dashing stream, 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool. 

My lowly banks o'erspread, 
And vi(;vv, deep-bending in the pool, 

Their shadows' wat'ry bed! 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy clifTs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 

The close embow'ring thorn. 

So may Old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band. 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honor'd native land! 
So may thro' All)ion's farthest ken, 

To social -flowing glasses 
The grace l)e — " Athole's honest men, 

And Athole's bonnie lasses ! " i 



' Mr. Walker in his letter to Dr. Currie, describing^ the impression Bums made at 
Blair, says, "The Duke's fine family attracted much of his admiration ; he drank 
their health as /io?ies< men and bonnie lasses, an idea which was much applauded by 
the company, and with which he has very felicitously closed his poem." 



l62 THE KIRK OF SCOTLAND'S ALARM. 

THE KIRK'S ALARM.1 

A SATIRE. 
A Ballad Tune—" Fush about the Brisk Bowl.** 

Orthodox, Orthodox, wha believe in John Knox, 

Let me sound an alarm to your conscience : 
There's a heretic blast has been blawn i' the wast, 

" That what is not sense must be nonsense." 

Dr. Mac, Dr. Mac,^ you should stretch on a rack, 

To strike evil-doers wi' terror ; 
To join faith and sense upon onie pretence, 

Is heretic, damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, it was mad, I declare. 

To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing ; 
Provost John^ is still deaf to the church's relief, 

And orator Bob* is its ruin. 

D'rymple mild, D'rymple^ mild, tho' your heart's like a child. 

And your life like the new driven snaw. 
Yet that winna save ye, auld Satan must have ye, 

For preaching that three's ane and twa. 

Rumble John, Rumble John,^ mount the steps wi' a groan, 

Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd ; 
Then lug out your ladle, deal brimstane like adle, 

And roar ev'ry note of the damn'd. 

Simper James, Simper James,'' leave the fair Killie dames, 

There's a holier chase in your view ; 
I'll lay on your head, that the pack ye'll soon lead, 

For puppies like you there's but few. 

» The occasion of the satire was as follows. In 1786 Dr. Wm. McGill, one of the min- 
isters of Ayr, published an essay on " The Death of Jesus Christ," which was de- 
nounced as heterodox by Dr. Wm. Peebles, of Newton-upon-Ayr, in a sermon preached 
by him November 5th, 1788. Dr. McGill published a defense, and the case came before 
the Ayr presbytery, and finally before the synod of Glasgow and Ayr. In August, 
1789, Burns wrote to Mr. Logan : " I have, as you will shortly see, finished the ' Kirk s 
Alarm ' ; but now that it is done, and that I have laughed once or twice at the conceits 
of some of the stanzas, I am determined not to let it get into the public : so I send 
you this copy, the first I have sent to Avrshire. except some few of the stanzas, which 
I wrote off in embryo for Gavin Hamilton, under the express provision and request 
that you will only read it to a few of us, and do not on any account give, or permit to 
be taken, any copy of the ballad." With reference to the ballad he wrote to Mr. 
Graham of Fintry : " I laughed myself at some conceits in it, though I am convinced 
in my conscience that there are a good many heavy stanzas in it too." 

2 Dr. McGill. 

3 John Ballatnyne, Esq., Provost of Ayr. 
* Mr. Robert Aitken. 

" Rev. Dr. Wm. Dalrymple. 

« Rev. John Russel : see " Holy Fair." 

' Rev. James Mackinlay : see " Ordination." 



THE KIRK OF SCOTLAND'S ALARM. 163 

Singet Sawney, Singet Sawney, ^ are ye herding the penny, 

Unconscious what evils await ? 
Wi' a jump, yell, and howl, alarm every soul. 

For the foul thief is just at your gate. 

Daddy Auld, Daddy Auld, 2 there's a tod in the fauld, 

A tod meikle waur than the Clerk •,^ 
Tho' ye can do little skaith, ye'll be in at the death. 

And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark. 

Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster, * if for a saint ye do muster, 

The corps is no nice of recruits : 
Yet to worth let's be just, royal blood ye might boast, 

If the ass was the king of the brutes. 

Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose, ^ ye hae made but toom roose. 

In hunting the wicked Lieutenant ; 
But the Doctor's your mark, for the L— d's haly ark, 

He has cooper'd and caw'd a wrang pin in't. 

Poet Willie, Poet Willie,^ gie the Doctor a volley, 

Wi' your " liberty's chain " and your wit; 
O'er Pegasus' side ye ne'er laid a stride, 

Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh-t. 

Andro Gouk, Andro Gouk,'' ye may slander the book. 

And the book no the waur, let me tell ye ! 
Ye are rich, and look big, but lay by hat and wig, 

And ye'll hae a calf's head o' sma' value. 

Barr Steenie, Barr Steenie,^ what mean ye ? what mean ye? 

If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter, 
Ye may hae some pretense to havins and sense, 

Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. 

Irvine Side, Irvine Side,^ wi' your turkeycock pride, 

Of manhood but sma' is your share ; 
Ye've the figure, 'tis true, even your faes will allow. 

And your friends they dare grant you nae mair. 

Muirland Jock, Muirland Jock, 10 when the Lord makes a rock 

To crush common sense for her sins. 
If ill manners were wit, there's no mortal so fit 

To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 

I Rev Alexander Moodie : see " The Twa Herds." 2 Rev. Mr. Auld. 

I nJ*"- S^^'° Hamilton. * Mr. Grant, Ochiltree. 

•* Mr. Youn^, Cumnock. 

6 Rev. Dr. William Peebles. He had written a poem which contained a ridiculous 
imes : — 

And bound in Liberty's endearing chain. 
^ Dr. Andrew Mitchell, Monkton. 
* Rev. Stephen Young, Barr. 
» Rev. Georpre Smith, Galston : see " Holy Fair." 
^° Rev. John Shepherd, Muirkirk. 



164 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE. 



Holy Will, Holy Will,^ there was wit i' your skull, 

When ye pilf er'd the alms o' the poor ; 
The timmer is scant when ye're ta'en for a saint, 

Wha should swing in a rape for an hour. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, seize your sp'ritual guns, 

Ammunition you never can need ; 
Your hearts are the stuff will be powther enough, 

And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, wi' your priest-skelping turns, 

Why desert ye your auld native shire ? 
Your muse is a gipsy, e'en tho' she were tipsy, 

She cou'd ca' us nae waur than we are. 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE, 



"WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOUSLY TORMENTED BY THAT DISORDER. 



My curse upon your venom'd stang. 
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang ; 
And thro' my lugs gies monie a 
twang, 

Wi' gnawing vengeance ; 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang. 

Like racking engines ! 

When fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
Rheumatics gnaw, orcholic squeezes ; 
Our neighbor's sympathy may ease 
us, 

Wi' pitying moan ; 
But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases, 

Aye mocks our groan ! 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! 
I throw the wee stools o'er the 

mickle. 
As round the tire the giglets keckle 

To see me loup ; 
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle 

Were in their doup. 



O' a' the numerous human dools, 
111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutty- 
stools, — 
Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools. 

Sad sight to see ! 
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools, 

Thou bear'st the gree. 

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, 
When a' the tones o' mis'ry yell, 
And ranked plagues their numbers 
tell. 

In dreadfu' raw. 
Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the 
bell 

Amang them a' ! 

O thou grim mischief -making chiel, 
That gars the notes of discord squeel, 
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe-thick ; — 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A towmont's Toothache. 



WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL 

OVEE THE CHIMNEY-PIECE IN THE PARLOR OP THE INN AT KENMORK, TAYMOUTH. 

Admiring Nature in her wildest grace. 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; 
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep, 

1 Mr. William Fisher, the " Holy Willie " of the famous satire. 



BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD. 



165 



My savage journey, curious, I pursue, 

Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. — 

The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides. 

The woods, wild scatter'd, clothe their ample sides ; 

Th' outstretching lake, embosom'd 'mong the hills, 

The eye with wonder and amazement fills ; 

The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride. 

The palace rising on his verdant side ; 

The lawns wood-fringed in Nature's native taste, 

The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless haste ; 

The arches striding o'er the new-born stream : 

The village, glittering in the noontide beam — 



Poetic ardors in my bosom swell. 

Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell : 

The sweeping theater of hanging woods ; 

The incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods — 



Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre, 

And look through Nature with creative fire ; 

Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil'd. 

Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild ; 

And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds, 

Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds : 

Here heart-struck Grief might heav'nward stretch her scan. 

And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man. 



ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, 



BORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OP FAMILY DISTRESS. 



Sweet flow'ret, pledge o'meikle love, 
And ward o' mony a prayer, 

What heart o' stane wad thou na 
move, 
Sae helpless, sweet, and fair. 

November hirples o'er the lea. 
Chill, on thy lovely form ; 

And gane, alas ! the shelt'ring tree. 
Should shield thee frae the storm. 

May He who gives the rain to pour. 
And wings the blast to blaw, 

Protect thee frae the driving show'r, 
The bitter frost and snaw. 



May He, the friend of woe and want 
Who heals life's various stounds. 

Protect and guard the mother plant, 
And heal her cruel wounds. 



But late she flourish'd, rooted fast. 
Fair in the summer morn : 

Now, feebly bends she in the blast, 
Unshelter'd and forlorn. 



Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 
Unscath'd by ruffian hand ! 

And from thee many a parent stem 
Arise to deck our land. 



1 Miss Susan Dunlop, daugchter of Mr. Dunlop, married a French prentleman named 
Henri. The young: couple were living at Loudon Castle when M. Henri died, leaving his 
wife pregnant. The verses were written on the birth of a son and heir. Mrs. Dunlop 



l66 SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL. 

STANDING BY THE PALL OF FYERS, NEAR LOCH-NESS. 

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods 

The roaring Fyers pours liis mossy floods ; 

Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 

Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. 

As high in air the bursting torrents flow. 

As deep recoiling surges foam below. 

Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, 

And viewless Echo's ear, astonished, rends. 

Dim-seen, thro' rising mists and ceaseless show'rs, 

The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, low'rs. 

Still, thro' the gap the struggling river toils, 

And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils — 



SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET.i 

AULD NEEBOR, 

I'm three times doubly o'er your debt- 
or, 
For your auld-farrant, f rien'ly letter ; 
Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter. 

Ye speak sae fair. 
For my puir, silly, rhymin clatter 

Some less maun sair. 



Hale be your heart, hale be your 

fiddle ; 
Lang may your elbuck jink and did« 

die. 
To cheer you through the weary 

widdle 

O' war'ly cares. 



communicated the intelligence to Burns, and received the following letter in return : 
" ' As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country ! ' Fate has 
long owed me a letter of good news from you, in return for the many tidings of sorrow 
which I have received. In this instance I most cordially obey the Apostle — ' Rejoice 
with them that do rejoice.' For me to sing for joy is no new thing ; but to preach for 
joy, as I have done in the commencement of this epistle, is a pitch of extravagant 
rapture to which I never rose before. I read your lettei'— I litei-ally jumped for joy ; 
how could such a mercurial creature as a poet lumpishly keep his seat on the receipt 
of the best news from his best friend ? I seized luy gilt-headed Wangee rod, an in- 
strument indispensably necessary, in my left hand, in the moment of inspiration and 
rapture ; and stride, stride— quick and quicker— out skipped I among the blooming 
banks of Nith, to muse over my joy by retail. To keep within the bounds of prose 
was impossible." Mr. Chambers traces the future history of Mrs. Henri and her son : 
" In a subsequent letter Burns deplores her (Mrs. Henri's) dangerous and distressing 
situation in France, exposed to the tumults of the Revolution ; and he has soon after 
occasion to condole with his venerable friend on the death of her daughter in a foreign 
land. When this sad event took place, the orphan child fell under the immediate care 
of his paternal grandfather, who, however, was soon obliged to take refuge in 
Switzerland, leaving the infant behind him. Years passed, he and the Scotch friends 
of the child heard nothing of it, and concluded that it was lost. At length, when 
the elder Henri was enabled to return to his ancestral domains, he had the unspeak- 
able satisfaction of finding that his grandson and heir was alive and well, having 
never been removed from the place. The child had been protected and reared with the 
greatest care by a worthy female named Mademoiselle Susette, formerly a domestic 
in the family. This excellent person had even contrived, through all the leveling vio- 
lence of the intervening period, to preserve in her young charge the feeling appro- 
priate to his rank. Though absolutely indebted to her industry for his bread, she had 
caused him always to be seated by himself at table and regularly waited on, so 
that the otherwise plebeian circumstances in which he lived did not greatly affect 
him. The subject of Burns's stanzas was, a very few years ago, proprietor of the 
family estates ; and it is agreeable to add that Mademoiselle Susette then lived in his 
paternal mansion, in the enjoyment of that grateful respect to which her fidelity and 
discretion so eminently entitled her. 

i This epistle was prefixed to the edition of Sillar's poems, published in Kilmarnock 
in 1789. 



THE INVENTORY. 



167 



Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld gray liairs. 

But Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit; 
I'm tauld the Muse ye bae ncgleckit ; 
And gif it's sae, ye sud be licket 

Until ye fyke ; 
Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faikit, 

Be hain't wha like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink, 
Rivin' the words to gar them clink ; 
Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't 
wi' drink, 

Wi' jads or masons; 
An' whyles, but aye owre late, I think 
Braw sober lessons. 

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man. 
Commend me to the Bardie clan ; 
Except it be some idle plan 

O' rhymin clink, 
The devil-haet, that I sud ban, 

They ever think. 



Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme 

o' livin', 
Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin*; 
But just the pouchie put the nieve in. 
An' while ought's there. 
Then hiltie skiltie, we gae scrievin', 
An' fash nair mair. 

Leeze me on rhyme ! it's aye a trea- 
sure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
At hame, a-fiel', at wark or leisure. 

The Muse, poorhizzie! 
Tho' rough an' raploch be her meas- 
ure. 

She's seldom laz}^ 

Hand to the Muse, my dainty Davie ; 
The warl' may play you monie a 

shavie ; 
But for the Muse, she'll never leave 

ye, 

Tho' e'er sae puir, 
Na, even tho' limpin' wi' the spavie 
Frae door tae door. 



THE INVENTORY.i 



IN ANSWER TO THE USUAL MANDATE SENT BY A SURVEYOR OF THE TAXES, REQUIRING 
RETURN OF THE NUMBER OF HORSES, SERVANTS, CARRIAGES, ETC., KEPT. 



Sm, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list, 
O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graitli. 
To which I'm clear to gi'e my aith. 

Imprimis then, for carriage cattle, 
I have four brutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew afore a pettle ; 
My han' af ore's a gude auld has-been, 
An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days 

been; 
My han' ahin's a weel gaun fillie, 
That aft has borne me hame frae 

Killie, 
An' your auld borough monie a 

time, 
In days when riding was nae crime — 
But ance whan in my wooing pride 
I like a blockhead boost to ride. 



The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, 
(Lord, pardon a' my sins an' that 

too!) 
I play'd my fillie sic a shavie. 
She's a' bedevild wi' the spavie. 
My furr-ahin's a wordy beast. 
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd, — 
The fourth's, a Highland Donald 

liastie, 
A damn'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie. 
Foreby a Cowte, o'Cowte's the wale, 
As ever ran afore a tail ; 
If he be spar'd to be a beast. 
He'll draw me fifteen pun at 

least. — 
Wheel carriages I ha'e but few, 
Three carts, an' twa are feckly 

new; 



1 The " Inventory " was addressed to Mr. Aitken of Ayr, surveyor of taxes for the 
district. It was first printed in the Liverpool edition or the poems. 



1 68 



THE WHISTLE. 



Ae auld wheelbarrow, mair for token, 

Ae leg, an' baith the trams, are 
broken ; 

I made a poker o' the spin'le. 

An' my auld mother brunt the 
trin'le. 
For men, I've three mischievous 
boys. 

Run de'ils for rantin' an' for noise ; 

A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other. 

Wee Davock bauds the nowte in 
fother. 

I rule them as I ought discreetly. 

An' often labor them completely. 

An' ay on Sundays duly nightly, 

I on the questions tairge them tightly ; 

Till faith, wee Davock's grown sae 
gleg, 

Tho' scarcely langer than my leg, 

He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, 

As fast as onie in the d walling.— 
I've nane in female servan' sta- 
tion, 

(Lord keep me ay frae a' tempta- 
tion !) 

I ha'e nae wife, and that my bliss 
is, 

An' ye have laid nae tax on misses ; 

An' then if kirk folks dinna clutch 
me, 

I ken the devils dare na touch me. 

Mossgiel^ 
February 22, 1786. 



Wi' weans I'm mair than weel con 

tented, 
Heav'n sent me ane mae than I 

wanted. 
My sonsie smirking dear-bought 

Bess, 
She stares the daddy in her face. 
Enough of ought ye like but grace. 
But her, my bonnie sweet wee lady, 
I've paid enough for her already, 
An' gin ye tax her or her mither. 
B' the Lord, ye'se get them a' the- 

gither. 
And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 
Nae kind of license out I'm takin' ; 
Frae this time forth, I do declare, 
I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair; 
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle. 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, 
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thank- 

it!— 
The Kirk an' you may tak' you that, 
It puts but little in your pat; 
Sae dinna put me in your buke, 
Nor for my ten white shillings luke. 
This list wi' my ain ban' I wrote it, 
Day an' date as under notit : 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
Subscripsi huic, 

Robert Burns. 



THE WHISTLE.i 



A BALLAD. 



I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 

I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, 

Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king, 

And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. 

* " As the authentic prose history of the Whistle is curious,'' writes Burns, "I shall 
here give it :— In the train of Anne of Denmark, when she came to Scotland with our 
James the Sixth, there came over a;lso a Danish gentleman of gigantic stature and 
great prowess, and a matchless champion of Bacchus. He had a little ebony whistle, 
which at the commencement of the orgies he laid on the table : and whoever was last 
able to blow it, everybody else being disabled by the potency of the bottle, was to 
carry off the whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced credentials of his vic- 
tories, without a single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, 
Warsaw, and several of the petty courts in Germany; and challenged the bcots 
Bacchanalians to the alternative of trying his prowess, or else acknowledgmg their 
inferiority. After many overthrows on the part of the Scots, the Dane was encounter- 
ed by Sir Robert Lawfie of Maxwelton, ancestor of the present worthy baronet ot 
that name, who after three days' and three nights' hard contest, left the Scandma- 
vian under the table. 

And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill. 



THE WHISTLE. 1 69 



Old Loda, still rueing the arm of Fingal,^ 
The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — 
"This Whistle's your challenge, in Scotland get o'er, 
And drink them to hell, Sir, or ne'er see me more!" 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What champions ventur'd, what champions fell ; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still, 
And blew on the Whistle their requiem shrill. 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, 

Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
He drank his poor god -ship as deep as the sea, 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 

Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before mentioned, afterwards lost the whistle to Wal- 
ter Riddel of Glenriddel, who had married a sister of Sir Walter's. On Friday, the 
16th October, 1790, at Friar's Carse. the whistle was once more contended for, as 
related in the ballad, by the present Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton ; Robert Riddle, 
Esq., of Glenriddel, lineal descendant and representative of Walter Riddel who won 
the whistle, and in whose family it had continued : and Alexander Ferguson, Esq. of 
Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the gi-eat Sir Robert ; which last gentleman 
carried off the hard- won honors of the field. R. B." 

Oddly enough, on the 16th October, 1789, we have a letter from Burns addressed to 
Captain Riddel, referring to the Bacchanalian contest. " Big with the idea of this 
important day at Friar's Carse, I have watched the elements and skies in the full 
persuasion that they would announce it to the astonished world by some phenomena 
of terrific portent. Yesternight, till a very late hour did I wait with anxious horror 
for the appearance of some comet firing half the sky, or aerial armies of sanguin- 
ary Scandinavians darting athwart the startled heaven, rapid as the ragged light- 
ning, and horrid as the convulsions of nature that bury nations. 

" The elements, however, seem to take the matter very quietly : they did not 
even usher in the morning with triple suns and a shower of blood, symbolical of the 
three potent heroes and the mighty claret-shed of the day. For me, as Thomson in his 
Winter says of the storm, I shall ' JHear astonished, and astonished sing ' 

The whistle and the man : I sing 
The man that won the whistle." 

And he concludes by wishing that the captain's head "maybe crowned by laurels to- 
night, and free from aches to-morrow." Burns in his note is supposed to have made 
a mistake of a year. He says the whistle was contended for on Friday, the 16th Oc- 
tober, 1790 : but in 1789, the 16th October fell on a Friday, and in 1790 it fell on a 
Saturday. 

It is not quite clear what share the poet took in the fray. Allan Cunningham states 
that the whistle was contended for "in the dining-room of Friar's Carse in Burns's 
presence, who drank bottle after bottle with the competitors, and seemed disposed 
to take up the conqueror." On the other hand. Mr. Hunter of Cockrune, in the par- 
ish of Closeburn, reports that he has a perfect recollection of the whole affair. 
He states that " Burns was present the whole evening. He was invited to join the 
party to see that the gentlemen drank fair, and to commemorate the day by writing a 
song. I recollect well that, when the dinner was over. Burns quitted the table, and 
went to a table in the same room, that was placed in a window that looked southeast ; 
and there he sat down for the night. I placed before him a bottle of rum, and another 
of brandy, which he did not finish, but left a good deal of each when he rose from the 
table after the gentlemen had gone to bed. . . . When the gentlemen were put to 
bed, Burns walked home without any assistance, not being the worse of drink. When 
Burns was sitting at the table in the window, ho had pen, ink. and paper, which I 
brought him at his own request. He now and then Avrote on the paper, and while 
the gentlemen were sober, he turned roimd often, and chatted with them, but drank 
none of the claret which they were drinking. ... I heard him read aloud several 

garts of the poem, much to the amusement of the three gentlemen." It is just possi- 
le that Burns is after all correct enough in his dates. His letter to Captain Riddel on 
the 16th October, 1789, although clear enough as to the impending " claret-shed," 
hardly suggests that the writer expected to be present. The theory that the revel 
had been originally arranged for that date, and, unknown to Bums, suddenly postponed 
for a year, would explain the matter. 
1 See Ossian's Caric-thur. R. B. 



I/O THE WHISTLE. 



Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd, 
Which now in his house has for ages remain'd ; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw; 
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins ; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil. 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; 
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 

"By the gods of the ancients!" Glenriddel replies, 
"Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,i 
And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend. 
But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe — or his friend, 
Said, toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, 
And knee-deep in claret, he'd die ere he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, 

So noted for drowning of sorrow and care , 

But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame. 

Than the sense, wit, and taste of a sweet lovely dame. 

A bard was selected to witness the fray. 
And tell future ages the feats of the day ; 
A bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply, 

And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy; 

In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set. 

And the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet. 

Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; 
Bright Phcebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, 
And vow'd that to leave them he w^as quite forlorn, 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. 

Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night. 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red. 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestors did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, 
No longer the warfare ungodly would wage ; 

1 See Johnson's " Tour to the Hebrides." R. B. 



TO THE RIGHT HON. C. J. FOX. 171 



A high-ruling elder to wallow in wine ! 

He left the foul business to folks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 

But who can with Fate and quart bumpers contend ? 

Though Fate said, a hero should perish in light; 

So up rose bright Phoebus— and down fell the knight. 

Next up rose our bard, like a prophet in drink :— 
**Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sinkl 
But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme. 
Come— one bottle more— and have at the sublime ! 

"Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with Bruce, 

Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 

So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; 

The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day ! " 

SKETCHi 

INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. C. J. FOX. 

How "Wisdom and Folly meet, mix, and unite ; 
How Virtue and Vice blend their black and their white; 
How Genius, th' illustrious father of fiction. 
Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction — 
I sing ; If these mortals, the Critics, should bustle, 
I care not, not I— let the Critics go whistle ! 

But now for a Patron, whose name and whose glory 
At once may illustrate and honor my story. 

Thou, first of our orators, first of our wits ; 

Yet whose parts and acquirements seem just lucky hits; 

With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so strong. 

No man, with the half of 'em, e'er could go wrong; 

With passions so potent, and fancies so bright. 

No man with the half of 'em e'er could go right; 

A sorry, poor, misbegot son of the Muses, 

For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 

Good Lord, what is man ! for as simple he looks, 

Do but try to develop his hooks and his crooks. 

With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, 

All in all, he's a problem must puzzle the devil. 

On his one ruling Passion Sir Pope hugely labors. 

That, like th' old Hebrew walking-switch, eats up its neighbors: 

Mankind are his show-box— a friend, would you know him? 

Pull the string. Ruling Passion, the picture will show him. 

What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system, 

One trifiing particular. Truth, should have miss'* him I 

For, spite of his fine theoretic positions. 

Mankind is a science defies definitions. 

1 " I have a poetic whim in my head, which T at present dedicate, or rather inscribe, 
to the Right Hon. C.J. Fox : but how lonj? that fancv may hold, I cannot say. A tew 
or the first linps I have just rouprh-sketched as follows." - 

The poet's MS. of the " Sketch " is in the British JMuseuni. 



172 



TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 



Some sort all our qualities each to his tribe, 

And think Human-nature they truly describe ; 

Have you found this, or t'other ? there's more in the wind, 

As by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll find. 

But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan 

In the make of the wonderful creature call'd Man, 

No two virtues, whatever relation they claim, 

Nor even two different shades of the same. 

Though like as was ever twin-brother to brother, 

Possessing the one shall imply you've the other. 

But truce with abstraction, and truce with a muse, 
Whose rhymes you'll perhaps, Sir, ne'er deign to peruse : 
Will you leave your justings, your jars, and your quarrels. 
Contending with Billy for proud-nodding laurels! 
My much-honor'd Patron, believe your poor Poet, 
Your courage much more than your prudence you show it, 
In vain with Squire Billy for laurels you struggle. 
He'll have them by fair trade, if not, he will smuggle ; 
Not cabinets even of kings would conceal 'em. 
He'd up the back-stairs, and by G — he would steal 'em. 
Then feats like Squire IBilly's you ne'er can achieve 'em, 
It is not, outdo him — the task is, out-thieve him. 

TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 

ELLISLAND, 21 ST OCT., 1789. 



Wow, but your letter made me 

vauntie ! 
And are ye hale, and weel, and 

cantie ? 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit j auntie 

Wad bring ye to : 
Lord send you aye as weel's I want 

ye, 

And then ye'll do. 

The ill-thief blaw the Heron south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth ! 
He tald mysel by word o' mouth, 

He'd tak my letter; 
I lippen'd to the chief in trouth, 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblins honest Master Heron 
Had at the time some dainty fair one, 
To ware his theologic care on, 

And holy study ; 
And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear on. 

E'en tried the body. 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier, 
I'm turn'd a ganger — Peace be here ! 



Parnassian queens, I fear, I fear 
Ye'll now disdain me ! 

And then my fifty pounds a year 
Will little gain me. 

Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty damies, 
Wha by Castalia's wimplin' stream- 

ies, 
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty 
limbics, 

Ye ken, ye ken. 
That Strang necessity supreme is 
'Mang sons o' men. 

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 
They maun hae brose and brats o' 

duddies ; 
Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud 
is — 

I need na vaunt. 
But I'll sued besoms — thraw saugh 
woodies. 

Before they want. 

Lord help me thro' this warld o' care ! 
I'm weary sick o't late and air ! 



PROLOGUE. 



173 



Not but I hae a richer share 

Than monie ithers ; 

But why should ae man better fare, 
And a' men brithers ? 



Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the 

van. 
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man ! 
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er 
wan 

A lady fair ; 
Wha does the utmost that he can, 
Will whyles do mair. 



But to conclude my silly rhyme, 
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,) 
To make a happ}'- fire-side clime 

To weans and wife, 
That's the true pathos and sublime 

Of human life. 

My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
And eke the same to honest Lucky, 
I wat she is a daintie chuckle. 

As e'er tread clay ! 
And gratefully, my guid auld cockle, 

I'm yours for aye. 

Robert Burns. 



PROLOGUE,! 

SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES, ON NEW YEAR'S DAY EVENING. [1790.] 

No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 

That queens it o'er our taste — the more's the pity 

Tho', by the by, abroad why will you roam ? 

Good sense and taste are natives here at home : 

But not for panegyric I appear, 

I come to wish you all a good new-year ! 

Old Father Time deputes me here before ye. 

Not for to preach, but tell his simple story: 

The sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me say, 

" You're one year older this important day." 

If wiser too — he hinted some suggestion, 

But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question; 

And with a would-be roguish leer and wink, 

He bade me on you press this one word—" Think! " 

Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and spirit, 
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, 
To you the dotard has a deal to say. 
In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way ! 
He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, 
That the first blow is ever half the battle ; 
That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him, 
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him ; 
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing. 
You may do miracles by persevering. 

Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair, 
Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care ! 
To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow. 
And humbly begs you'll mind the important Now ! 



1 In writing to his brother Gilbert, 11th January, 1790, Burns says ;— 
" We have got a set of very decent players here just now. I have seen them 
an evening or two. David Campbell, in Ayr, wrote to me by the manager of the 
company, a Mr. Sutherland, who is a man of apparent worth. On New Year's Day 
evening, I gave him the following prologue, which he spouted to his audience with 
applause," 



174 ON THE LATE MISS BURNET. 

To crown your happiness he asks your leave, 
And offers bliss to give and to receive. 

For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavors, 
With grateful pride we own your many favors; 
And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, 
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. 



ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET,^ 

OF MONBODDO. 

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 
As Burnet, lovely from her native skies; 
Nor envious death so triumph'd in a blow. 
As that which laid th' accomplish'd Burnet low. 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget ? 
In richest ore the brightest jewel set! 
In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown. 
And by his noblest work the Godhead best is known. 

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves ; 

Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore. 
Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves. 

Ye cease to charm — Eliza is no more ! 

Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens; 

Ye mossy streams, witli sedge and rushes stor'd ; 
Ye rugged cliffs o'erhanging dreary glens. 

To you I fly, ye with my soul accord. 

Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their worth, 

Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail ? 
And thou, sweet excellence ! forsake our earth. 

And not a Muse in honest grief bewail ? 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, 
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres: 

But like the sun eclips'd at morning tide, 
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee. 
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care ; 

So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree. 
So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. 

1 Miss Burnet, daughter of Lord Monboddo, celebrated in the Address to Edin- 
burgh. This elegy seems to have cost the poet considerable trouble. In a letter to 
Mr. Cunningham, January, 1791, he says :— " I have these several months been ham- 
mering at an elegy on the amiable and accomplished Miss Burnet. I have got, 
and can get, no farther than the following fragment," 



TO A GENTLEMAN. 



175 



THE FOLLOWING POEMi WAS WRITTEN 



TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER, AND OFFERED TO 
CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE. 



read 



your paper 



Kind Sir, I've 

through, 

And, faith, to me, 'twas really new ! 
How guess'd ye. Sir, what maist I 

wanted ? 
This monie a day I've grain' d and 

gaunted, 
To ken what French mischief was 

brewin' ; 
Or what the drumlie Dutch were 

doin' ; 
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor 

Joseph, 
If Venus yet had got his nose off ; 
Or how the collieshangie works 
Atween the Russians and the Turks ; 
Or if the Swede, before he halt. 
Would play anither Charles the 

Twalt; 
If Denmark, any body spak o't ; 
Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't ; 
How cut-throat Prussian blades were 

hingin ; 
How libbet Italy was singin ; 
If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, 
Were sayin or takin aught amiss: 
Or how our merry lads at hame. 
In Britain's court, kept up the game : 
How royal George, the Lord leuk 

o'er him ! 
Was managing St. Stephen's quorum ; 
If sleekit Chatham Will was livin, 
Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ; 



How daddie Burke the plea was 

cookin, 
If Warren Hastings' neck was 

yeukin ; 
How cesses, stents, and fees were 

rax'd, 
Or if bare a-s yet were tax'd ; 
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls, 
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera- 
girls ; 
If that daft Buckie, Geordie Wales, 
Was threshin still at hizzies' tails ; 
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser, 
And no a perfect kintra cooser. — 
A' this and mair I never heard of ; 
And, but for you, I might despair'd 

of. 
So gratefu', back your news I send 

you. 
And pray a' guid things may attend 

you! 
EUisland, Monday Morning, 1790. 

Remonstrance to the Gentleman to 
whom the foregoing poem was 
addr 



Dear Peter, dear Peter, 

We poor sons of metre 
Are often negleckit, ye ken ; 

For instance, your sheet, man, 

(Though glad I'm to see't, man,) 
I get it no ae day in ten. — R. B. 



LINES ON AN INTERVIEW WITH LORD DAER.2 



This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twenty -third, 
A ne'er to be forgotten day, 
Sae far I sprachled up the brae, 

I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 



I've been at druken writers' feasts, 
Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly 
priests, 
Wi' rev'rence be it spoken ; 
I've even join'd the honor'd jorum, 



^ This epistle is supposed to have been sent to Mr. Peter Stuart, of the Star news- 
)aper. From the remonstrance which follows it would seem that the newspaper 
not arrive with the punctuality which was desired. 

2 Basil William, Lord Daer, son of the Earl of Selkirk, died in 1794, in his thirty- 
second year. Burns met him at Professor Dugald Stewart's villa at Catrine. 



m 



1/6 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. 



When mighty Squireships of the 
quorum 
Their hydra drouth did sloken. 



But wi' a Lord — stand out my shin ; 
A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's son, 

Up higher yet, my bonnet ! 
And sic a Lord — lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our Peerage he o'eriooks them a', 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 



But, O for Hogarth's magic pow'r ! 
To show Sir Bardie's willyart glow'r, 

And how he star'd and stam- 
mer'd. 
When goavan, as if led wi' branks, 
An' stumpin on his ploughman 

shanks, 

He in the parlor hammer'd. 



I sidling sheiter'd in a nook, 
A.n' at his Lordship steal't a look, 

Like some portentous omen: 
Except good sense and social glee. 
An' (what surprised me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch'd the symptoms o' the Great, 
The gentle pride, the lordly state. 

The arrogant assuming ; 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he, 
Nor sauce, nor state that I could see, 

Mair than an honest plough- 



Then from his lordship I shall learn, 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as weel's another 
Nae honest worthy man need care 
To meet with noble youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brother. 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. 



PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ^ ON HER BENEFIT-NIGHT. [NOV. 26, 1792.] 

While Europe's eye is fixed on mighty things. 
The fate of Empires and the fall of Kings ; 
While quacks of State much each produce his plan, 
And even children lisp The Rights of Man ; 
Amid the mighty fuss just let me mention, 
The Rights of Woman merit some attention. 

First, in the Sexes' intermix'd connexion. 
One sacred Right of Woman is. Protection. — 
The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, 
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of Fate, 
Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form. 
Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm. 

Our second Right — but needless here is caution, 
To keep that Right inviolate's the fashion. 
Each man of sense has it so full before him. 
He'd die before he'd wrong it — 'tis Decorum. 
There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days, 
A time, when rough rude men had naughty ways; 
Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, 
Nay, even thus invade a Lady's quiet ! — 
Now, thank our stars ! those Gothic times are fled ; 
Now, well-bred men — and you are all well-bred ! 

iMiss Fontenelle was an actress at the Dumfries' Theatre. In sending her the 
address, Burns writes : " Will the foregoing lines be of any service to you in your 
approaching benefit-night ? If they will, I shall be prouder of my muse than ever. 
They are nearly extempore ; I know they have no great merit ; but though they 
should add but little to the entertainment of the evening, they give me the happiness 
of an opportunity to declare how much I have the honor to be, etc." 



MISS FONTENELLE. 1 77 



Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) 
Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners. 

For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest, 
That Right to fluttering female hearts the nearest, 
Which even the Rights of Kings in low prostration 
Most humbly own — 'tis dear, dear admiration ! 
In that blest sphere alone we live and move ; 
There taste that life of life — immortal love. — 
Sighs, tears, smiles, glances, fits, flirtations, airs, 
'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares — 
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms, 
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms? 

Then truce with kings, and truce with constitutions, 
With bloody armaments and revolutions ! 
Let Majesty your first attention summon, 
Ah ! ga ira ! The Majesty op Woman ! 



ADDRESS, SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE, 

ON HER BENEFIT-NIGHT, DECEMBER 4, 1795, AT THE THEATER, DUMFRIES. 

Still anxious to secure your partial favor. 
And not less anxious, sure, this night, than ever, 
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, . 
'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better; 
So sought a Poet, roosted near the skies. 
Told him I came to feast my curious eyes; 
Said, nothing like his works was ever printed ; 
And last, my Prologue-business slyly hinted. 
"Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes, 
" I know your bent — these are no laughing times: 
Can you— but, Miss, I own I have my fears — 
Dissolve in pause — and sentimental tears ? 
With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence. 
Rouse from his sluggish slumbers fell Repentance*, 
Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand. 
Waving on high the desolating brand. 
Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land ? " 
I could no more — askance the creature eyeing. 
D'ye think, said I, this face was made for crying ? 
I'll laugh, that's poz — nay, more, the world shall know it; 
And so, your servant ! gloomy Master Poet ! 
Firm as my creed. Sirs, 'tis my fix'd belief. 
That Misery's another word for Grief ; 
I also think — so may I be a bride ! 
That's so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd. 
Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh. 
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye ; 
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — 
To make tliree guineas do the work of five : 
Laugh in Misfortune's face — the beldam witch! 
Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich. 
12 



178 



POEMS. 



Thou other man of care, the wretch in love, 
Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove; 
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, 
Measur'st in desperate thought — a rope— thy neck- 
Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, 
Peerest to meditate the healing leap : 
Wouldst thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf ? 
Laugh at her follies — laugh e'en at thyself : 
Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific, 
And love a kinder — that's your grand specific. 

To sum up all, be merry, I advise : 
And as we're merry, may we still be wise. 



VERSES TO A YOUNG LADY,i 

WITH A PRESENT OF SONGS. 

Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal lives, 
In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd, 

Accept the gift ; tho' humble he who gives, 
Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 

So may no ruffian-feeling in thy breast 
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among! 

But Peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, 
Or Love, ecstatic, wake his seraph song ! 

Or Pity's notes, in luxury of tears. 
As modest Want the tale of woe reveals ; 

While conscious Virtue all the strain endears, 
And heaven-born Piety her sanction seals ! 



POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY.2 



Hail, Poesie ! thou Nymph reserv'd ! 
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae 

swerv'd 
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 
'Mang heaps o' clavers; 
And och! owre aft thy joes hae 
starv'd, 

'Mid a' thy favors ! 



Say, Lassie, why thy train amang. 
While loud the trump's heroic 

clang, 
And sock or buskin skelp alang 

To death or marriage ; 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd- 
sang 

But wi' miscarriage ? 



1 Burns wrote Mr. Thomson, July, 1794 : " I have presented a copy of your songs to 
the daughter or a much-honored friend of mine, Mr. Graham of Flntry. I wrote, on 
the blank side of the title-page, the following address to the young lady." 

^ Gilbert Burns doubted whether the Poem on Pastoral Poetry was written by his 
brother. Few readers, we fancy, can have any doubt on the matter. Burns is, unques- 
tionably, the author. The whole poem is full of lines which are " like autographs," 
and the four closing stanzas are in the Poet's best manner. 



POEMS. 



179 



In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; 
Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare 

drives ; 
Wee Pope, the knurlin, 'till him rives 

Horatian fame ; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, sur- 
vives 

Even Sappho's flame. 

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches ? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's 

catches ; 
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin 
patches 

O' heathen tatters : 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 
That ape their betters. 

In this braw age o' wit and lear. 
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle 

niair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace ; 
And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian share 

A rival place ? 

Yes ! there is ane ; a Scottish callan — 
There's ane; come forrit, honest 

Allan ! 
Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, 
A chiel sae clever ; 



The teeth o' Time may knaw Tan- 
tallan, 

But thou's for ever! 

Thou paints auld Nature to the nines, 
In thy sweet Caledonian lines ; 
Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles 
twines, 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the 
vines. 

Her griefs will tell ! 

In gowany glens thy burnie strays. 
Where bonnie lasses bleach their 

claes ; 
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

Wi' hawthorns gray, 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's 
lays 

At close o' day. 

Thy rural loves are nature's sel' ; 
Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; 
Nae snap conceits; but that sweet 
spell 

O' witchin' love ; 
That charm that can the strongest 
quell, — 

The sternest move. 



WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF THE LAST 
EDITION OF HIS POEMS, 1 



PRESENTED TO THE LADY WHOM HE HAD OFTEN CELEBRATED 
UNDER THE NAME OF CHLORIS. 



Tis Friendship's pledge, my young 
fair friend. 

Nor thou the gift refuse, 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing Muse, 

Since thou, in all thy youth and 
charms. 
Must bid the world adieu, 



(A world 'gainst peace in constant 
arms 
To join the friendly few.) 

Since, thy gay morn of life o'crcast, 
Chill came the tempest's lower, 

(And ne'er misfortune's eastern 
blast 
Did nip a fairer flower.) 



1 With reference to these verses Burns, in 1795, wrote to Mr. Thomson : " Written on 
the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my poems, presented to the lady whom, 
in so many fictitious reveries of passion, but with the most ardent sentiments of real 
friendship, I have so often sung under the name of Chloris." The lady was Miss Jean 
Lorimer, daughter of a farmer residing at some little distance from Dumfries. Chloris 
was the most unfortunate of all Burns's heroines. While very young she eloped with a 
gentleman named Whelpdale, and was shortly after deserted by him. She died in 1831, 
having lived the greater portion of her life in penury. 



i8o 



TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER. 



Since life's gay scenes must charm no 
more, 

Still much is left behind ; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store — 

The comforts of the mind ! 

Thine is the self -approving glow, 
On conscious honor's part ; 



And, dearest gift of heaven below. 
Thine friendship's truest heart. 

The joys refin'd of sense and taste. 

With every muse to rove : 
And doubly were the poet blest, 

These joys- could he improve. 



POETICAL ADDRESS TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER,i 

WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD'S PICTURE.* 

Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, 

Of Stuart, a name once respected, 
A name, which to love, was the mark of a true heart, 

But now 'tis despis'd and neglected. 

Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye, 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh. 

Still more, if that wand'rer were royal. 

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne ; 

My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, 

That name should he scoffingly slight it. 

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join, 

The Queen, and the rest of the gentry. 
Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine ; 

Their title's avow'd by my country. 

But why of this epocha make such a fuss. 

That gave us the Hanover stem ? 
If bringing them over was lucky for us, 

I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them. 

But, loyalty, truce ! we're on dangerous ground, 

Who knows how the fashions may alter ? 
The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound, 

To-morrow may bring us a halter. 

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard, 

A trifle scarce worthy your care ; 
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard. 

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

1 Mr. Tytler had published an " Inquiry, Historical and Critical, into the Evidence 
against Mary Queen of Scots." 

2 An artist, named Miers, was then practising in Edinburgh as a maker of silhouette 
portraits. Burns sat to him, and to Mr. Tytler he forwarded one of Miers's perform- 
ances. 



ON MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE. 



I8l 



Now life's chilly evening dim shades in your eye, 

And ushers the long dreary night ; 
But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky. 

Your course to the latest is bright. 



SKETCH. 1— NEW-YEAR DAY. [1790.] 



TO MRS. DUNLOP. 



This day Time winds th' exhausted 

chain, 
To run the twelvemonth's length 

again : 
I see the old, bald-pated fellow. 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow. 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 

The absent lover, minor heir, 
In vain assail him with their prayer. 
Deaf, as my friend, he sees them press, 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Will you (the Major's 2 with the 

hounds, 
The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
Coila's fair Rachel's care ^ to-day, 
And blooming Keith's * engaged with 

Gray) 
From housewife cares a minute bor- 
row — 
— That grandchild's cap will do to- 
morrow — 
And join with me a moralizing, 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 
First, what did yesternight de- 
liver ? 
"Another year has gone forever." 
And what is this day's strong sug- 
gestion ? 
" The passing moment's all we rest 
on!" 



Rest on — for what ? what do we here ? 
Or why regard the passing year ? 
Will Time, amus'd with proverb'd 

lore. 
Add to our date one minute more ? 
A few days may, a few years must. 
Repose us in the silent dust ; 
Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 
Yes — all such reasonings are amiss ! 
The voice of Nature loudly cries, 
And many a message from the skies, 
That something in us never dies ; 
That on this frail, uncertain state 
Hang matters of eternal weight ; 
That future-life in worlds unknown 
Must take its hue from this alone ; 
Whether as heavenly glory bright. 
Or dark as misery's woful night. — 
Since then, my honor'd, first of 
friends. 
On this poor being all depends ; 
Let us th' important Now employ, 
And live as those that never die. 
Tho' you, with days and honors 
crown'd, 
Witness that filial circle round, 
(A sight — life's sorrows to repulse ; 
A sight — pale Envy to convulse ;) 
Others may claim your chief regard : 
Yourself, you wait your bright re- 
ward. 



EXTEMPORE, ON MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE, 

AUTHOR OP THE PHILOSOPHY OF NATURAL HISTORY, 
AND MEMBER OF THE ANTIQUARIAN AND ROYAL SOCIETIES OP EDINBURGH. 

To Crochallan^ came. 
The old cock'd hat, the graj^ surtout, the same ; 
His bristling beard just rising in its might, 
'Twas four long nights and days to shaving night; 

^ This sketch is descriptive of the family of Mr. Dunlop, of Dunlop. 

* Afterwards General Dunlop, of Dunlop. 

3 Miss Rachel Dunlop was makinj;: a sketch of Coila. 

* Miss Keith Dunlop, the youngest daughter. 

5 Burns and Smellie were members of a club in Edinburgh called the Crochallan 
Feucibles. 



1 82 MONODY ON A LADY. 

His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatcli'd 
A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd. 
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude, 
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 

INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR 

TO INDEPENDENCE, AT KERROUGHTRY, SEAT OF MR. HERON, WRITTEN IN SUMMER, 1795. 

Thou of an independent mind, 

With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd; 

Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave. 

Who wilt not be, nor have a slave; 

Virtue alone who dost revere, 

Thy own reproach alone dost fear. 

Approach this shrine, and worship here. 

MONODY ON A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE.i 

How cold is that bosom wnieh folly once fired, 

How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd ! 

How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tir'd. 
How dull is that ear which to flattery so listen'd ! 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 

From friendship and dearest affection remov'd ; 

How doubly severer, Maria, thy fate. 
Thou diedst unwept, as thou livedst unlov'd. 

Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you ; 

So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear: 
But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true, 

And flowers let us cull from Maria's cold bier. 

We'll search thro' the garden for each silly flower. 
We'll roam through the forest for each idle weed; 

But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower. 

For none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash deed. 

We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay ; 

Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey, 

Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from his ire. 

THE EPITAPH, 

Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect, 

What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam : 

Want only of wisdom denied her respect, 
Want only of goodness denied her esteem. 

1 Mrs. Riddel, of Woodley Park, was the lady satirized in these verses. Dr. Currie, in 
printing them, substituted " Eliza" for Maria. 



ON MRS. RIDDEL S BIRTHDAY. 



83 



ESQ., 

lApril, 1794] 



SONNET, ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, 
OF GLENRIDDEL. 

No more ye warblers of the wood — no more ! 

Nor pour your descant, grating on my soul ; 

Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole. 
More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar. 

How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your dyes? 

Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend : 

How can I to the tuneful strain attend? 
That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where Riddel lies. 

Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe ! 
And soothe the Virtues weeping o'er his bier: 
The Man of Worth, and has not left his peer, 

Is in his " narrow house" for ever darkly low. 

Thee, Spring, again with joys shall others greet; 
Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet. 



IMPROMPTU, ON MRS. RIDDEL'S BIRTHDAY, 
NOVEMBER 4, 1793. 



Old Winter with his frosty beard, 

Thus once to Jove his prayer pre- 
ferr'd, — 

" What have I done of all the 5'^ear, 

To bear this hated doom severe ? 

My cheerless suns no pleasure know ; 

Night's horrid car drags, dreary slow ; 

My dismal months no joys are crown- 
ing, 

But spleeny English, hanging, drown- 
ing. 



Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil, 
To counterbalance all this evil ; 
Give me, and I've no more to say, 
Give me Maria's natal day ! 
That brilliant gift will so enrich 

me. 
Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot 

match me ; " 
" 'Tis done ! " says Jove ; so ends my 

story. 
And Winter once rejoic'd in glory. 



TO A YOUNG LADY, MISS JESSY LEWARS, DUMFRIES, 

WITH BOOKS WHICH THE BARD PRESENTED HER. [jUNE 26tH, 1796.] 



Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair. 
And with them take the Poet's 

prayer — 
That fate may in her fairest page. 
With every kindliest, best presage 
Of future bliss, enrol thy name ; 
With native worth, and spotless fame, 



And wakeful caution still aware 
Of ill — but chief, man's felon snare: 
All blameless joys on earth we find. 
And all the treasures of tlie mind — 
These be thy guardian and reward ; 
So prays thy faithful friend, the 
Bard. 



1 Miss Jessie Lewars attended Burns in his la^t illness. 



1 84 



TO MR. SYME. 



VERSES 



WRITTEN UNDER VIOLENT GRIEF. 



Accept the gift a friend sincere 
Wad on thy worth be pressin' ; 
Remembrance oft may start a tear, 
But oh ! that tenderness forbear, 
Though 'twad my sorrows lessen. 



, My morning raise sae clear and fair, 

I thought sair storms wad never 
Bedew the scene ; but grief and care 
In wildest fury hae made bare 
My peace, my hope, for ever ! 



You think I'm glad ; oh, I pay weel 

For a' the joy I borrow, 
In solitude — then, then I feel 
I canna to mysel' conceal 

My deeply-ranklin' sorrow. 

Farewell ! within thy bosom free 

A sigh may whiles awaken ; 
A tear may wet thy laughin' ee, 
For Scotia's son — ance gay like thee— 
Now hopeless, comfortless, for- 
saken ! 



EXTEMPORE TO MR. SYME,i 



ON REFUSING TO DINE WITH HIM, 
AFTER HAVING BEEN PROMISED THE FIRST OF COMPANY, AND THE FIRST OF COOKERY. 



17th December, 1795. 



No more of your guests, be they titled or not. 
And cook'ry the first in the nation; 

"Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, 
Is proof to all other temptation. 



TO MR. SYME, 

WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OP PORTER. 

O, HAD the malt thy strength of mind, 
Or hops the flavor of thy wit, 

'Twere drink for first of human kind, 
A gift that e'en for Syme were fit. 

Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. 



SONNET, 

HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORNING WALK IN JANUARY, WRITTEN 25tH JANUARY, 
1793, THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE AUTHOR. 

Sing on, sweet Thrush, upon the leafless bough ; 

Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain : 

See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign. 
At thy blithe carol clears his furrow'd brow. 



1 Mr. John Syme was one of the Poet's constant companions. He possessed great 
talent, and Dr. Curri© wished him to undertake the editing of the Poets life and writings. 



TO A GENTLEMAN. 



I8S 



So in lone Poverty's dominion drear 
Sits meek Content witli light unanxious heart, 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, 

Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear. 

I thank thee, Author of this opening day ! 

Thou whose bright sun now gilds the orient skies! 

Riches denied, thy boon M-as purer joys, 
"What wealth could never give nor take away ! 

Yet come, thou child of poverty and care ; 

The mite high Heaven bestow 'd, that mite with thee I'll share. 



POEM, ADDRESSED TO MR. MITCHELL, 



COLLECTOR OP EXCISE, DUMFRIES. [DECEMBER, 1795.] 



Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or 

steal ; 
Alake, alake, the meikle Deil 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it, skelpin ! jig and reel, 

In my poor pouches. 

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it, 
That one pound one, I sairly want it : 
If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it. 

It would be kind ; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood 
dunted, 

I'd bear't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang out moan- 
ing, 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin 
To thee and thine ; 
Domestic peace and comforts crown- 
ing 

The hale design. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Ye've heard this while how I've been 

licket. 
And by fell death was nearly nicket : 
Grim loon ! he gat me by the f ecket. 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But by guid luck I lap a wicket. 
And turn'd a neuk. 

But by that health, I've got a share 

o't. 
And by that life, I'm promis'd mair 

o't. 
My heal and weal I'll take a care o't 

A tentier way : 
Then fareweel folly, hide and hair o't, 
For ance and aye. 



SENT TO A GENTLEMAN WHOM HE HAD OFFENDED, i 



The friend whom wild from wisdom's 
way 
The fumes of wine infuriate send ; 
(Not moony madness more astray ;) 
Who but deplores that hapless 
friend ? 



Mine was th' insensate frenzied 
part, 
Ah why should I such scenes out- 
live ? 
Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 
'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 



1 Mr. Mackenzie, surgeon, Mauchline, was believed to be the gentleman 
lines were addressed. 



whom these 



1 86 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. 



POEM ON LIFE, 



ADDRESSED TO COLONEL. DE PEYSTER, DUMFRIES, 1796. 



My honor'd Colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the Poet's weal ; 
Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to speel 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus by bolus pill, 

And potion glasses. 

O what a canty warld were it, 
Would pain, and care, and sickness 

spare it ; 
And fortune favor worth and merit, 

As they deserve : 
(And aye a rowth, roast beef and claret 
Syne wha wad starve '?) 

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick 

her. 
And in paste gems and fripp'ry deck 

her ; 
Oh! flick'ring, feeble, and unsicker 

I've found her still, 
Aye wav'ring like the willow wicker, 
'Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole, auld 

Satan, 
Watches, like baudrons by a rattan, 
Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on 

Wi' felon ire ; 
Syne, whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast 
saut on. 

He's off like fire. 



Ah Nick ! ah Nick ! it isna fair, 
First showing us the tempting 

ware, 
Bright wine and bonnie lasses rare, 

To put us daft ; 
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare 

O' hell's damn'd waft. 



Poor man, the fly, aft bizzies by, 
As aft as chance he comes thee nigh, 
Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks wi' 

joy. 

And hellish pleasure; 
Already in thy fancy's eye, 

Thy sicker treasure. 



Soon heels-o'er-gowdie ! in he gangs, 
And like a sheep-head on a tangs. 
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murd'ring wrestle, 
As, dangling in the wind, he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil, 
To plague you with this draunting 

drivel, 
Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quat my pen : 
The Lord preserve us f rae the Devil ! 
Ajiien! amen! 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRY, 

t 

ON RECEIVING A FAVOR. 



I CALL no Goddess to inspire my 
strains, 

A fabled Muse may suit a Bard that 
feigns ; 

Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit 
burns, 

And all the tribute of my heart re- 
turns, 

For boons recorded, goodness ever 
new, 

The gift still dearer, as the giver you. 



Thou orb of day! thou other paler 
light ! 

And all ye many sparkling stars of 
night ; 

If aught that giver from my mind 
efface ; 

If I that giver's bounty e'er dis- 
grace ; 

Then roll to me, along your wand- 
'ring spheres, 

Onl^ to number out a villain's j^ears! 



VERSES WRITTEN AT SELKIRK. 



187 



EPITAPH ON A FRIEND. 



An honest man here lies at rest, 

As e'er God with his image 

blest ; 
The friend of man, the friend of 

truth ; 
The friend of age, and guide of 

youth : 



Few hearts like his, with virtue 

warm'd, 
Few hearts with knowledge so in- 

form'd : 
If there's another world, he lives in 

bliss ; 
If there is none, he made the best of 

this. 



VERSES WRITTEN AT SELKIRK.i 

ADDRESSED TO MR. CREECH, 13tH MAY, 1787. 



AuLD chuckie Reekie's sair distrest, 
Down droops her ance weel burnish't 

crest, 
Nae joy her bonnie buskit nest 
Can yield ava. 
Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 
Willie's awa ! 

O Willie was a witty wight, 
And had o' things an unco slight ; 
Auld Reekie aye he keepit tight, 

An' trig an' braw : 
But now they'll busk her like a 
fright, 

Willie's awa ! 

The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd ; 
The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd ; 
They durst nae mair than he allow 'd. 

That was a law : 
We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd, 

Willie's awa ! 

Kow gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and"* 

fools, 
Frae colleges and boarding-schools, 
* May sprout like simmer puddock- 
stools 

In glen or shaw ; 
He wha could brush them down to 
mools, 

Willie's awa ! 

The brethren o' the Commerce-Chau- 

mer 
May mourn their loss wi* doofu' 

clamor ; 



He was a dictionar and grammar 
Amang them a' ; 
I fear they'll now mak mony a stam- 
mer, 

Willie's awa ! 



Nae mair we see his levee door 
Philosophers and Poets pour. 
And toothy critics by the score. 

In bloody raw, 
The adjutant o' a' the core, 

Willie's awa ! 

Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, 
Tytler's and Greenfield's modest 

grace ; 
Mackenzie, Stewart, sic a brace 

As Rome ne'er saw ; 
They a' maun meet some ither place, 
Willie's awa! 



Poor Burns e'en Scotch drink canna 

quicken, 
He cheeps like some bewilder'd 

chicken 
Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin 

By hoodie-craw ; 
Grief's gien his heart an unco' kickin', 
Willie's awa ! 



Now ev'ry sour-mou'd grinnin' blel- 

lum, 
And Calvin's folk, are fit to fell 

him: 



1 In enclosing these verses to Mr. Creech, Burns writes : " The enclosed I have iust 
ridin ' " ^^ extempore, in a solitary inn in Selkirk, after a miserable wet day's 



i88 



A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 



And self -conceited critic skellum 

His quill may draw ; 

He wha could brawlie ward their 
bellum, 

Willie's awa ! 



Up wimpling stately Tweed I've 

sped, 
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
And Ettrick banks now roaring 
red, 

"While tempest blaw ; 
But every joy and pleasure's fled, 
Willie's awa ! 



May I be Slander's common speech ; 
A text for infamy to preach ; 
And lastly, streekit out to bleach 

In winter snaw ; 
When I forget thee, Willie Creech, 

Tho' far awa ! 

May never wicked Fortune touzle 

Him! 
May never wicked men bamboozle 

him ! 
Until a pow as auld's Methusalem 

He canty claw ! 
Then to the blessed, New Jerusalem 
Fleet wing awa ! 



INSCRIPTION ON THE TOMBSTONE 

ERECTED BY BURNS TO THE MEMORY OF FERGUSSON. 

" Here lies Robert Fergusson, Poet, 

Born September 5th, 1751— 

Died 16th October, 1774." 

No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay, 
"No storied urn nor animated bust;" 

This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
To pour her sorrows o'er her Poet's dust. 

She mourns, sweet tuneful youth, thy hapless fate, 
Tho' all the powers of song thy fancy fir'd. 

Yet Luxury and Wealth lay by in State, 
And thankless starv'd what they so much admir'd. 

This humble tribute with a tear he gives, 
A brother Bard, he can no more bestow : 

But dear to fame thy Song immortal lives, 
A nobler monument than Art can show. 

A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 



O THOU, who kindly dost provide 
For every creature's want ! 

We bless thee, God of Nature wide, 
For all thy goodness lent : 



And, if it please thee, Heavenly Guide, 
May never worse be sent; 

But whether granted, or denied, 
Lord, bless us with content ! 

Amen! 



A VERSE 



COMPOSED AND REPEATED BY BURNS, TO THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE, ON TAKING LEAVE 
AT A PLACE IN THE HIGHLANDS, WHERE HE HAD BEEN HOSPITABLY ENTERTAINED. 

When death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 

A time that surely shall come ; 
In Heaven itself I'll ask no more. 

Than just a Highland welcome. 



FRAGMENT OF AN ODE. 1 89 

LIBERTY. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among. 
Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred song, 

To thee I turn with swimming eyes ; 
Where is that soul of Freedom fled ? 
Immingled with the mighty dead ! 

Beneath the hallow'd turf where Wallace lies 
Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death ! 

Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep; 

Disturb not ye the hero's sleep. 
Nor give the coward secret breath. 

Is this the power in Freedom's war, 

That wont to bid the battle rage ? 
Behold that eye which shot immortal hate. 

Crushing the despot's proudest bearing, 
That arm which, nerved with thundering fate, 

Brav'd usurpation's boldest daring ! 
One quench'd in darkness like the sinking star, 
And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless age. 

FRAGMENT OF AN ODE 

TO THE MEMORY OF PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD STUART. 

False flatterer, Hope, away ! 
Nor think to lure us as in days of yore ; 

We solemnize this sorrowing natal-day 
To prove our loyal truth ; we can no more ; 

And owning Heaven's mysterious sway, 
Submissive low adore. 

Ye honor'd mighty dead ! 
Who nobly perish'd in the glorious cause. 
Your king, your country, and her laws ! 

From great Dundee M^ho smiling victory led. 
And fell a mart^^r in her arms 
(What breast of northern ice but warms ?) 

To bold Balmerino's undying name. 
Whose soul of fire, lighted at heaven's high flame, 
Deserves the proudest wreath departed heroes claim 

Nor unavenged your fate shall be, 

It only lags the fatal hour ; 
Your blood shall with incessant cry 

Awake at last th' unsparing power; 
As from tlie cliff, with tlumdcring course. 

The snowy ruin smokes along, 
_With doubling speed and gathering force, 
Till deep it crashing whelms the cottage in the vale ! 
So vengeance 



IQO ANSWER TO VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE POET. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RUISSEAUX.i 



Now Robin lies in liis last lair, 
He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair, 
Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, 

Nae mair shall fear him : 
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care, 

E'er mair come near him. 

To tell the truth, they seldom fash't 

him, 
Except the moment that they crush't 

him ; 
For sune as chance or fate had husht 

'em. 



Tho' e'er sae short. 
Then wi' a rhyme or sang he laslit 
'em, 

And thought it sport. 



Tho' he was bred to kintra M^ark, 
And counted was baith wight and 

stark. 
Yet that was never Robin's mark 

To mak a man ; 
But tell him, he was learn'd and dark, 

Ye roos'd him than ! 



ANSWER TO VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE POET. 



BY THE GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOPE-HOUSE. [1787.] 



No nation, no station, 

My envy e'er could raise ; 

A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher jDraise. 

But still the elements o' sang 

In formless jumble, right an' wrang, 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
Till on that har'st I said before, 
My partner in the merry core. 

She rous'd the forming strain : 
I see her yet, the sonsie quean, 

That lighted up my jingle, 
Her witching smile, her pauky een. 
That gart my heart-strings tingle ; 
I fired, inspired, 

At ev'ry kindling keek, 
But bashing, and dashing, 
I feared aye to speak. 

Health to the sex, ilk guid chiel says, 
Wi' merry dance in winter days, 

An' we to share in common : 
The gust o' jo3^ the balm of woe. 
The saul o' life, the heav'n below. 

Is rapture-giving woman. 
Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name, 

Be m'indf u' o' your mither : 

' Ruisseav.x : a play upon the Poet's own name. 

2 Mrs. Scott, of Wauchope, Roxburghshire, had sent a rhymed epistle to Burns display- 
ing considerable vigor of thought and neatness of expression. 



GuiDWIFE, 

I ivnND it weel, in early date, 
When I was beardless, young and 
blate. 
An' first could thresh the barn. 
Or baud a yokiu at the pleugh, 
An' tho' forfoughten sair eneugh, 

Yet unco proud to learn : 
When first amang the yellow corn 

A man I reckon'd was. 
And wi' the lave ilk merry morn 
Could rank my rig and lass, 
Still shearing, and clearing 

The tither stooked raw, 
Wi' claivers, an haivers. 
Wearing the day awa : 

Ev'n then a wish, (I mind its power,) 
A wish that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast ; 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
Someusefu' plan, orbeukcouldmake. 

Or sing a sang at least. 
The rough bur-thistle, spreading 
wide 

Amang the bearded bear, 
I turn'd the weeder-clips aside, 

An' spar'd the symbol dear : 



TO J. LAPRAIK. 



191 



She, honest woman, may think shame 
That ye're connected with her, 
Ye're wae men, ye're nae men. 
That slight the lovely dears; 
To shame ye, disclaim ye, 
Ilk honest birkie swears. 

For you, no bred to barn or byre, 
Wha sweetly time the Scottish lyre. 

Thanks to you for your line : 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare, 



By me should gratefully be ware ; 

'Twad please me to the nine. 
I'd be more vauntie o' my hap. 

Douce hingin' owre my curple, 
Than ony ermine ever lap, 
Or proud imperial purple. 
Farewell then, lang heal then, 

An' plenty be your fa' : 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallan ca'. 

March, 1787. 



TO J. LAPRAIK. 



SEPT. 13th, 1785. 



GuiD speed an' f urder to you, Johny, 
Guid health, hale ban's, and weather 

bonnie 
Now when ye're nickan down fu' cany 

The staff o' bread. 
May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y 

To clear your head. 

May Boreas never thresh your rigs. 
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, 
Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' hags 

Like drivin' wrack ; 
But may the tapmast grain that wags 

Come to the sack. 

I'm bizzie too, an' skelpin' at it. 
But bitter, daudin showers hae wat 

it, 
Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it 

Wi' muckle wark, 
An' took my jocteleg an' whatt it. 

Like onie clerk. 



It's 



your 



For 



now twa month that I'm 

debtor, 
your braw, nameless, dateless 
letter, 
Abusin' me for harsh ill-nature 

On holy men. 
While Deil a hair yoursel' ye're bet- 
ter, 

But mair profane. 

But let the kirk-folk ring their bells. 
Let's sins: about our noble sels : 



We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills 
To help, or roose us, 

But browster wives an' whisky stills. 
They are the Muses. 

Your friendship. Sir, I winna quat it, 
An' if ye make objections at it. 
Then han' in nieve some day we'll 
knot it. 

An' witness take. 
An' when wi' Usquebae we've wat it 
It winna break. 

But if the beast and branks be spar'd 
Till kye be gaun without the herd, 
An' a' the vittel in the yard. 

An' theekit right, 
I mean your ingle-side to guard 

Ae Avinter night. 

Then muse-inspirin' aqua-vitoe 
Shall make us baith sae blithe an 

witty 
Till ye forget ye're auld an' gatty. 

An' be as canty 
As ye were nine years less than 
thretty 

Sweet ane an' twenty ! 

But stooks are cowpet wi' the blast, 
An' now the siun keeks in the west. 
Then I maun rin amang the rest 

An' quit my chanter; 
Sae I subscribe mysel in haste. 

Yours, Rab the Ranter. 



192 



THE TWA HERDS. 



THE TWA HERDS. [April, 1785.] 

Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor. 
But Fool with Fool is barbarous civil war. 

Pope. 



a' ye pious godly flocks, 
Weel fed on pastures orthodox, 
Wlia now will keep you frae the fox, 

Or worrying tykes ? 
Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks, 

About the dykes ? 

The twa best herds in a' the wast, 
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast, 
These five and twenty summers past, 

O dool to tell ! 
Hae had a bitter black out-cast, 

Atween themsel. 

O, Moodie, man, and wordy Russel, 
How could you raise so vile a bustle, 
Ye'll see how New-light herds will 
whistle, 

And think it fine ! 
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a 
twistle, 

Sin' I hae min'. 

O, Sirs, whae'er wad hae expeckit, 
Your duty ye wad sae negleckit, 
Ye wha were ne'er by lairds re- 
speckit, 

To wear the plaid, 
But by the brutes themselves eleckit 

To be their guide. 

What flock wi' Hoodie's flock could 

rank, 
Sae hale and hearty every shank, 
Nae poison'd soor Arminian stank 

He let them taste, 
Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, they 
drank : 

O' sic a feast ! 

Thethummart wil'-cat, brock and tod, 
Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood, 
He smell'd their ilka hole and road, 

Baith out and in, 
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid. 

And sell their skin. 



Wliat herd like Russel tell'd his tale, 
His voice was heard thro' muir and 

dale, 
He kend the Lord's sheep, ilka tail. 

O'er a' tlie height. 
And saw gin they were sick or hale, 

At the first sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub. 
Or nobly fiing the gospel club, 
And New -light herds could nicely 
drub, 

Or pay their skin, 
Could shake them owre the burning 
dub. 

Or heave them in. 

Sic twa — O ! do I live to see't, 
Sic famous twa should disagreet, 
An' names, like "villain," "hypo- 
crite," 

Ilk ither gi'en. 
While New -light herds wi' laughin' 
spite, 

Say, " neither's liein " ! 

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld. 
There's Duncan deep, and Peebles 

shaul, 
But chiefly thou, apostle Auld, 

We trust in thee. 
That thou wilt work them, hot and 
cauld, 

Till they agree. 

Consider, Sirs, how we're beset, 
There's scarce a new herd that we 

get, 
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set 

I winna name, 
I hope frae heaven to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 
Dalrymple has been lang our fae, 
M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae, 
And that curs'd rascal ca'd M'Quhae, 

And baith the Shaws, 
That aft hae made us black and blaCj 

Wi' vengefu' paws. 



TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH. 



193 



Auld Wodrow lang has hatch'd mis- 
chief, 
We thought aye death wad bring re- 
lief, 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A chiel wha'll soundly buff our beef ; 
I meikle dread him. 

And monie a ane that I could tell, 
AVha fain would openly rebel, 
Forby turn-coats amang oursel. 

There's Smith for ane, 
I doubt he's but a gray nick quill. 

And that ye'U fin'. 

O ! a' ye flocks, owre a' the hills, 
By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells. 
Come join your counsels and your 
skills, 



To cowe the lairds, 
And get the brutes the power them- 
sels 

To choose their herds. 

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, 
And Learning in a woody dance. 
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense 

That bites sae sair. 
Be banish 'd owre the seas to France : 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and D'rymple's elo- 
quence, 
]\I 'Gill's close nervous excellence, 
M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense, 

And guid M'Math, 
Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can 
glance. 

May a' pack aff. 



TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH, 

ENCLOSING A COPY OF HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER, WHICH HE HAD REQUESTED. 

Sept. 17th, 1785. 
While at the stook the shearers cow'r 
To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r, 
Or in gulravage rinnin scour 

To pass the time, 
To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My Musie, tir'd wi' monie a sonnet 

On gown, an' ban, an' douse black bonnet, 

Is grown right eerie now she's done it, 

Lest they shou'd blame her, 
An' rouse their holy thunder on it, 

And anathem her. 

I own 'twas rash, and rather hardy, 
That I, a simple countra bardie, 
Shou'd meddle wi' a pack so sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me. 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 

Lowse hell upon me. 

But I gae mad at their grimaces, 
Their sighin', cantin' grace-proud faces, 
Their three-mile prayers, and hauf-mile graces, 

Their raxin' conscience, 
Whase greed, revenge, an' j^ride disgraces 
Waur nor their nonsense. 

* The Rev. Mr. M'Math was, when Burns addressed him, assistant and successor to 
the Rev. Peter Wodrow, minister of Tarbolton. He is said to have been an excellent 
preacher. 



194 TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH. 



There's Gaun, misca't waur than a beast, 
Wha has mair honor in his breast 
Than monie scores as guid's the priest 

Wha sae abus'd him ; 
An' may a bard no crack his jest 

What way they've us'd him ? 



See him, the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word an' deed, 
An' shall his fame an' honor bleed 

By worthless skellums, 
An' no a Muse erect her head 

To cowe the blellums ? 



O Pope, had I thy satire's darts 
To gie the rascals their deserts, 
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 

An' tell aloud 
Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts 

To cheat the crowd. 



God knows, I'm no the thing I shou'd be, 
Nor am I even the thing I could be. 
But, twenty times, I rather would be 

An atheist clean, 
Than under gospel colors hid be, 

Just for a screen. 



An honest man may like a glass. 
An honest man may like a lass, 
But mean revenge, an' malice fause, 

He'll still disdain. 
An' then cry zeal for gospel laws, 

Like some we ken. 



They tak religion in their mouth ; 
They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth, 
For what ? to gie their malice skouth 

On some puir wight. 
An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth. 

To ruin straight. 



All hail, Religion ! maid divine ! 
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine. 
Who in her rough imperfect line 

Thus daurs to name thee ; 
To stigmatize false friends of thine 

Can ne'er defame thee. 



HOLY WILLIE S PRAYER. 



195 



Tho' blotcht an' foul wi' monie a stain, 

An' far unworthy of thy train, 

Wi' trembling voice I tune my strain 

To join wi' those, 
Who boldly daur thy cause maintain 

In spite o' foes : 

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, 
In spite of undermining jobs, 
In spite o' dark banditti stabs 

At worth an' merit, 
By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes. 

But hellish spirit. 

O Ayr! my dear, my native ground! 
Within thy presbyterial bound, 
A candid lib'ral baud is found 

Of public teachers. 
As men, as Christians too, renown'd, 

An' manly preachers. 

Sir, in that circle you are nam'd. 
Sir, in that circle you are fam'd ; 
An' some, by whom your doctrine's blam'd ; 

(Which gies you honor,) 
Even, Sir, by them your heart's esteem'd, 

An' winning manner. 

Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, 
An' if impertinent I've been. 
Impute it not, good Sir, in ane 

Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye. 
But to his utmost would befriend 

Ought that belang'd ye. 



HOLY vVILLIE'S PRAYER.i 



O Thou, wha in the Heavens dost 

dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best thyscl', 
Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, 

A' for thj'' glor}'-, 
And no for onie guid or ill 

They've done afore thee ! 

1 I bless and praise thy matchless 
I might, 

Whan thousands thou hast left in 
night. 



That I am here afore thy sight, 
For gifts an' grace, 

Aburnin an' a shinin' light. 
To a' this place. 

What was I, or my generation. 
That I should get sic exaltation ? 
I, wha deserve sic just damnation, 

For broken laws. 
Five thousand years 'fore my crea- 
tion, 

Thro' Adam's cause. 



1 " Holy Willie " was William Fisher, the leading elder in the Rev. Mr. Auld's session. 
He was afterwards found guilty of embezzling money from the church offerings, and 
died in a ditch, into which he had fallen when drunk. 



196 



HOLY Willie's prayer. 



When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
Thou might hae plunged me in hell, 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnin' lake. 
Where damned devils roar and yell, 

Chain'd to a stake. 

Yet I am here a chosen sample, 

To show thy grace is great and ample ; 

I'm here a pillar in thy temple. 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an example 

To a' thy flock. 

O Lord, thou kens what zeal I bear. 
When drinkers drink, and swearers 

swear. 
And singin there and dancing here, 

Wi' great an' sma': 
For I am keepit by thy fear, 

Free frae them a'. 

But yet, O Lord ! confess I must. 
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust. 
An' sometimes too, wi' warldly trust. 

Vile self gets in ; 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defil'd in sin. 

O Lord! yestreen, thou kens, wi' 

Meg— 
Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 
O ! may it ne'er be a livin plague 

To my dishonor, 
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg 

Again upon her. 

Besides I farther maun allow, 

Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow; 

But Lord, that Friday I was fou. 

When I came near her, 
Or else thou kens thy servant true 

Wad ne'er hae steer'd her. 

May be thou lets this fleshly thorn 
Beset thy servant e'en and morn. 
Lest he owre high and proud should 
turn, 

'Cause he's sae gifted ; 
If sae, thy hand maun e'en be borne. 
Until thou lift it. 

Lord, bless thy chosen in this place, 
For here thou hast a chosen race ; J 



But God confound their stubborn 
face. 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace. 
An' public shame. 

Lord, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts, 
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at 

cartes, 
Yet has sae monie takin arts, 
Wi' grit an' sma', 
Frae God's ain priest the people's 
hearts 

He steals awa'. 

An' whan we chasten'd him therefore, 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, 
As set the warld in a roar 

O' laughin at us ; 
Curse thou his basket and his store, 

Kail and potatoes. 

Lord, hear my earnest cry an' pray'r. 
Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr ; 
Thy strong right hand, Lord, make 
it bare, 

Upo' their heads ; 
Lord, weigh it down, and dinna 
spare. 

For their misdeeds. 

O Lord my God, that glib-tongued 

Aiken, 
My very heart and soul are quakin, 
To think how we stood sweatin, 
shakin 

An' p — d wi' dread, 
While he, wi' hingin lips an' snakin, 
Held up his head. 

Lord, in the day of vengeance try 

him ; 
Lord, visit them wha did employ him. 
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em, 

Nor hear their pray'r : 
But, for thy people's sake, destroy 
'em 

And dinna spare. 



But, Lord, remember me and mine 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, 
That I for gear and grace may shine, 

Excell'd by nane. 
An' a' the glory shall be thine 

Amen, Amen. 



1 



ON SCARING SOME WATER FOWL. 



[97 



EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. 



Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay 

Taks up its last abode ; 
His saul has taen some other way, 

I fear the left-hand road. 

Stop ! there he is, as sure's a gun. 

Poor silly body, see him ; 
Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, 

Observe wha's standing wi' him. 

Your brunstane devilship, I see, 
Has got him there before ye ; 



But hand your nine-tail cat a wee, 
Till ance you've heard my story. 

Your pity I will not implore, 

For pity ye have nane ; 
Justice, alas ! has gien him o'er, 

And mercy's day is gane. 

But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are, 
Look something to your credit ; 

A coof like him wad stain your name 
If it were kent ye did it. 



ON SCARING SOME WATER FOWLi 



IN LOCH-TURIT, A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OP OCHTERTYRE. 



Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
For me your wat'ry haunt forsake? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties ? — 
Common friend to you and me. 
Nature's gifts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave. 
Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock, 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race. 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 
Man, your proud, usurping foe. 
Would be lord of all below ; 
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride. 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow. 
Marking you his prey below. 



In his breast no pity dwells. 
Strong Necessity compels. 
But Man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, 
Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains. 
Only known to wand'ring swains, 
Where the mossy riv'let strays. 
Far from human haunts and ways ; 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spend 

Or, if man's superior might 
Dare invade your native right. 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



* Written while Burns was on a visit to Sir William Murray, of Ochtertyre. 



198 



EPISTLE TO MR. M'ADAM. 



TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ., MAUCHLINE, 



RECOMMENDING A BOY. 



I HOLD it, Sir, my bounden duty, 
To warn you how that Master Tootie, 

Alias Laird M'Gaun,i 
"Was here to lure the lad away 
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day, 

An' wad hae don't aff han' : 
But lest he learn the callan tricks, 

As faith I muckle doubt him, 
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's 
nicks, 

An' tellin' lies about them ; 
As lieve then I'd have then, 
Your clerkship he should 
sair, 
If sae be, ye may be 
Not fitted otherwhere. 

Altho' I say't, he's gleg enough. 
An' 'bout a house that's rude an' 
rough, 

The boy might learn to 
swear ; 
But then wi' you, he'll be sae taught, 
An' get sic fair example straught, 
I hae na onie fear. 



Mosgaville, May 3, 1786. 



Ye'll catechize him every quirk, 

An' shore him weel wi' hell; 

An' gar him follow to the kirk 

— Ay when ye gang yoursel. 
If ye then, maun be then 
Frae hame this comin' Fri- 
day, 
Then please, Sir, to lea'e, Sir, 
The orders wi' your lady. 



My word of honor I ha'e gi'en, 

In Paisley John's, that night at e'en, 

To meet the Warld's worm: 
To try to get the twa to gree. 
An' name the airles an' the fee. 

In legal mode an' form : 
I ken he weel a snick can draw, 

When simple bodies let him ; 
An' if a Devil be at a', 

In faith he's sure to get him. 
To phrase you an' praise you, 

Ye ken your Laureat scorns : 
The pray'r still, you share still, 

Of grateful Minstrel — Burns. 



EPISTLE TO MR. M'ADAM, 



OP CRAIGEN-GILLAN, IN ANSWER TO AN OBLIGING LETTER HE SENT IN THE COMMENCEMENT 
OP MY POETIC CAREER. 



Sir, o'ei a gill I gat your card, 

I trow it made me proud ; 
" See wha taks notice o' the Bard ! " 

I lap and cry'd f u' loud. 

** Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, 

The senseless, gawky million ; 
I'll cock my nose aboon them a', 

I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan ! " 

'Twas noble, Sir; 'twas like yoursel, 
To grant your high protection : 

Master Tootie was a dealer in cows, who lived in Mauchline. It was his practise 
disguise the age of his cattle, by polishing away the markings on their horns. 



A great man's smile, ye ken f u" weel, 
Is aye a blest infection. 

Tho', by his banes wha in a tub 
Match'd Macedonian Sandy ! 

On my ain legs, thro' dirt and dub, 
I independent stand aye. — 

And when those legs to gude, wan 
kail 

Wi' welcome canna bear me ; 
A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail, 

And barley-scone shall cheer me. 



TO TERRAUGHTY, ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 



199 



Heaven spare you lang to kiss the 
breath 
O' monie flow'iy simmers ! 
Aud bless your bonnie lasses baith, 
I'm tald they're loosome kim- 
mers! 



And God bless young Dunaskin's 
laird 
The blossom of our gentry ! 
And may he wear an auld man's 
beard 
A credit to his country. 



TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL, GLENRIDDEL. 

EXTEMPORE LINES ON RETURNING A NEWSPAPKR.* 

Ellisland, Monday Evening. 

Your News and Review, Sir, I've read through and through, Sir, 

With little admiring or blaming ; 
The papers are barren of home-news or foreign. 

No murders or rapes w^orth the naming. 

Our friends the Reviewers, those chippers and hewers, 

Are judges of mortar and stone, Sir; 
But of meet, or unmeet, in a fabrick complete, 

I'll boldly pronounce they are none. Sir. 

My goose-quill too rude is to tell all your goodness 

Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet ; 
"Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun, 

And then all the world, Sir, should know it! 

VERSES 

INTENDED TO BE WRITTEN BELOW A NOBLE EARL'S PICTURE. 



Whose is that noble, dauntless brow? 

And whose that eye of fire? 
And whose that generous princely 
mien 

Even rooted foes admire? 

Stranger, to justly show that brow^ 
And mark that eye of fire. 

Would take His hand, whose vernal 
tints 
His other works admire. 



Bright as a cloudless summer sun. 
With stately port he moves ; 

His guardian seraph eyes with awe 
The noble ward he loves. 



Among the illustrious Scottish 
sons 

That chief thou may'st discern; 
Mark Scotia's fond returning eye. 

It dwells upon Glencairn. 



TO TERRAUGHTY,2 ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 



Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran 

Chief! 
Health, aye unsour'd by care or grief : 
Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sibyl leaf 

This natal morn, 
I see thy life is stuff o' prief , 

Scarce quite half worn. 



This day thou metes threescore 

eleven. 
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
(The second-sight, ye ken, is given 

To ilka Poet) 
On thee a tack o' seven times seven 

Will yet bestow it. 



1 The newspaper contained some strictures on Burns's poetry. 

' John Maxwell, Esq., of Terraughty and Munches. He died in 1814, aged 94. 



!00 



THE VOWELS. 



If envious buckles view wi' sorrow 
Thy lengthen'd days on this blest 

morrow, 
May desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow, 

Nine miles an hour, 
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomor- 
rah, 

In brunstane stoure — 

But for thy friends, and they are 

monie 
Baith honest men and lassies bonnie, 
May couthie fortune, kind and 

cannie. 



In social glee, 
Wi' mornings blithe and e'enings 
funny 

Bless them and thee ! 

Farewell, auld birkie ! Lord be near 

ye. . 

And then the Deil he daurna steer i 

ye. f 

Your friends aye love, your faes aye 
fear ye ; 

For me, shame fa' me. 
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye 

While Burns they ca' me. 



TO A LADY, 



WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF DRINKING GLASSES. 



Fair Empress of the Poet's soul. 
And Queen of Poetesses ; 

Clarinda, take this little boon. 
This humble pair of glasses. 



And fill them high with generous 
juice, 
As generous as your mind ; 



And pledge me in the generous 
toast — 
' ' The whole of human kind ! " 

" To those who love us!" — second 
fill; 

But not to those whom we love ; 
Lest we love those who love not us ! 

A. third — ' ' to thee and me, Love ! " 



THE VOWELS.i 



A TALE. 

'TwAS where the birch and sounding thong are ply'd, 

The noisy domicile of pedant pride ; 

Where ignorance her darkening vapor throws, 

And cruelty directs the thickening blows ; 

Upon a time, Sir Abece the great, 

In all his pedagogic powers elate, 

His awful chair of state resolves to mount, 

And call the trembling Vowels to account. 

First enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn wight, 
But ah! deform'd, dishonest to the sight! 
His twisted head look'd backward on his way. 
And flagrant from the scourge, he grunted, ai/ 

Reluctant, E stalk'd in ; with piteous race 
The jostling tears ran down his honest face! 
That name, that well-worn name, and all his own. 
Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne ! 

1 It is very doubtful whether Busns is the author of this piece published by Cromefc 



* 



PROLOGUE. 201 



The pedant stifles keen the Roman sound 
Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound; 
And next, the title following close behind, 
He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assign'd. 

The cobweb'd gothic dome resounded, Y! 
In sullen vengeance, I, disdained reply : 
The pedant swung his felon cudgel round, 
And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground 

In rueful apprehension enter'd O, 
The wailing minstrel of despairing woe; 
Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert. 
Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art: 
So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering U, 
His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew ! 

As trembling U stood staring all aghast. 
The pedant in his left hand clutch'd him fast, 
In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right, 
Baptiz'd him eu, and kick'd him from his sight. 

SKETCH. 1 

A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, 
And still his precious self his dear delight ; 
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets 
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets : 
A man of fashion too, he made his tour, 
Learn'd vive la bagatelle, et vive I'amour; 
So travel'd monkeys their grimace improve, 
Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love. 
Much specious lore, but little understood ; 
Veneering oft outshines the solid w^ood : 
His solid sense — by inches you must tell. 
But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell ; 
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend. 
Still making work his selfish craft must mend. 

PROLOGUE 

FOR MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT-NIGHT, DUMFRIES. [1790.] 

What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, 
How this new play an' that new sang is comin' ? 
Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted ? 
Does nonsense mend like wiiisky, w^hen imjDorted? 
Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame. 
Will try to gie us sangs and plays at hame ? 
For comedy abroad he need na toil, 
A fool and knave are plants of every soil ; 
Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and Greece 
To gather matter for a serious piece ; 

1 The " Sketch " is a portion of a work, " The Poet's Progress," which Burns medi- 
tated, but of which hardly any portion seems to have ever been written. The immediate 
object of his satire is said to nave been his publisher Creech. 



202 PROLOGUE. 



There's themes enow in Caledonian story, 
Would show the tragic muse in a' her glory. 

Is there no daring Bard will rise, and tell 
How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell ? 
Where are the Muses fled that could produce 
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce ; 
How here, even here, he first unsheath'd the sword 
'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord ; 
And after monie a bloody, deathless doing, 
Wrench'd his dear country from the jaws of niin? 
O for a Shakespeare or an Otway scene. 
To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen ! 
Vain all th' omnipotence of female charms 
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's arms. 
She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, 
To glut the vengeance of a rival woman ; 
A woman, tho' the phrase may seem uncivil, 
As able and as cruel as the devil ! 
One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page. 
But Douglases were heroes every age : 
And tho' your fathers, prodigal of life, 
A Douglas follow'd to the martial strife, 
Perhaps, if bowls row right, and Right succeeds, 
Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads ! 

As ye liae generous done, if a' the land 
Would take the Muses' servants by the hand; 
Not only hear, but patronize, befriend them. 
And where ye justly can commend, commend them; 
And aiblins when thej winna stand the test. 
Wink hard and say, the folks hae done their best ! 
Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caution 
Ye'll soon hae Poets o' the Scottish nation. 
Will gar Fame blaw until her trumpet crack, 
And warsle time an' lay him on his back ! 

For us and for our stage should onie spier, 
" Whase aught thae chiels maks a' this bustle here?' 
My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow. 
We hae the honor to belong to you ! 
We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like. 
But like good mithers, shore before ye strike — 
And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find us, 
For a' the patronage and meikle kindness 
We've got frae a' professions, sets, and ranks : 
God help us 1 we're but poor — ye'se get but thanks. 



LAMENT. 



203 



ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788, 



SKETCH. 



For Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, 

E'en let them die — for that they're 
born : 

But oh ! prodigious to reflec' ! 

A Towmont, Sirs, is gane to wreck ! 

O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 

What dire events hae taken place! 

Of what enjoyments thou hast reft 
us! 

In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 
The Spanish empire's tint a head. 

And my auld teethless Bawtie's dead ! 

The tulzie's sair 'tween Pitt an' 
Fox, 

An' our gudewif e's wee birdy cocks ; 

The tane is game, a bludie devil. 

But to the hen-birds \mco civil ; 

The tither's something dour o' tread- 
in', 

But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden. 
Ye ministers, come mount the 
poupit. 

An' cry till ye be haerse an' roupet, 



For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel. 
And gied you a' baith gear an' meal ; 
E'en monie a plack, and monie a peck, 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck. 

Ye bonnie lasses, dight your een, 
For some o' you hae tint a frien' ; 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en 
What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again. 

Observe the very nowt an' sheep, 
How dowf and daviely they creep ; 
Nay, even the yirth itsel does cry. 
For E'mbrugh wells are grutten dry. 

Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn, 
An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care, 
Thou now has got "thy daddie's chair, 
Nae hand-cuff'd, mizzl'd, hap- 

shackl'd Regent, 
But, like himsel, a full free agent. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 
Nae waur than he did, honest man: 
As muckle better as you can. 

January 1, 1789. 



VERSES WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF 
FERGUSSON THE POET, 

IN A COPY OF THAT AUTHOR'S WORKS 
PRESENTED TO A YOUNG LADY IN EDINBURGH, MARCH 19tH, 1787. 

Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd. 
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure ! 
O thou, my elder brother in misfortune, 
By far my elder brother in the Muses, 
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 
Why is the Bard unpitied by the world, 
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures ? 



LAMENT, 

WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN THE POET WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE SCOTLAND. 



O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone mountain straying, 
Where the wild winds of winter incessantly rave. 

What woes wring my lieart while intently surveying 
The storm's gloomy path on the breast of the wave. 



204 



SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 



Ye foam-crested billows, allow me to wail, 
Ere ye toss me afar from my lov'cl native shore ; 

Where the flower which bloom'd sweetest in Coila's green vale. 
The pride of my bosom, my Mary's no more. 

Ko more by the banks of the streamlet we'll wander, 
And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave ; 

No more shall my arms cling with fondness around her, 
For the dew-drops of morning fall cold on her grave. 

No more shall the soft thrill of love warm my breast, 

I haste with the storm to a far distant shore ; 
"Where unknown, unlamented, my ashes shall rest. 

And joy shall revisit my bosom no more. 



DELIA. 



AN ODE. 



Faib the face of orient day. 
Fair the tints of op'ning rose ; 
But fairer still my Delia dawns. 
More lovely far her beauty blows. 

Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay, 
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear ; 
But, Delia, more delightful still 
Steal thine accents on mine ear. 



The flower-enamor'd busy bee 
The rosy banquet loves to sip ; 
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip; 

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove ! 
O let me steal one liquid kiss ! 
For oh ! my soul is parch'd with level 



ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare. 
Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave ; 

Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the dark'ning air, 
And hollow whistl'd in the rocky cave. 

Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell, 
Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train ; 

Or mused where limpid streams, once hallow'd well, 
Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred fane. 

Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks. 
The clouds swift-wing'd flew o'er the starry sky. 

The groaning trees untimely shed their locks. 
And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. 



The paly moon rose in the livid east, 

And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately Form, 

In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast. 
And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm. 



TO MISS FERRIER. 



205 



Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 
'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd: 

Her form majestic droop'd iu peusive woe, 
The lightning of her eye iu tears imbued. 

Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, 
Reclin'd that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd, 

That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar, 

And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world.— 

" My patriot son fills an untimely grave ! " 
With accents wild and lifted arms she cried: 

" Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, 
Low lies the heart that swellxl with honest pride! 

"A weeping country joins a widow's tear, 
The helpless poor'miix with the orphan's cry; 

The drooping arts surround their patron's bier, 
And grateful science heaves the heartfelt sigh. 

"I saw my sons resume their ancient fire; 

I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow; 
But, ah! how hope is born but to expire! 

Relentless fate has laid their guardian low, — 

"My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung, 
While empty greatness saves a worthless name? 

No; every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue, 
And future ages hear his growing fame. 

"And I will join a mother's tender cares. 
Thro' future times to make his virtues last, 

That distant years may boast of other Blairs," — 
She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast. 



TO MISS FERRIER,! 



ENCLOSING THE ELEGY ON SIR J. H. BLAIR. 



Nae heathen name shall I prefix 
Frae Pindus or Parnassus ; 

Auld Reekie dings them a' to sticks. 
For rhyme-inspiring lasses. 

Jove's tunefu' dochters three times 
three 

Made Homer deep their debtor; 
But, gi'en the body half an ee, 

Nine Ferriers wad done better ! 

Last day my mind was in a bog, 
Down George's Street I stoited ; 



A creeping cauld prosaic fog 
My very senses doited. 

Do what I d ought to set her free, 
My saul lay in the mire ; 

Ye turned a ncuk — I saw your ee- 
She took the wing like fire.' 



The mournfu' sang I lierc enclose, 

In gratitude I send you ; 
And wisli and pray in rliyme sincere, 

A' gude things may attend you! 



Miss Ferrier, authoress of Marriage and Destiny. 



206 



THE POET S WELCOME. 



WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF 

OP A COPY OF THE FIRST EDITION [OF HIS POEMS], WHICH I PRESENTED 
TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, THEN MARRIED. 

Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear, 
Sweet early object of my youthful vows, 

Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere; 
Friendship ! 'tis all cold duty now allows. 

And when you read the simple artless rhymes, 
One friendly sigh for him, he asks no more, 

Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes, 
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar. 



THE POET'S WELCOME TO HIS ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.i 



Thou's welcome, wean ! mishanter fa' 

me, 
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, 
Shall ever danton me, or awe me, 
My sweet wee lady, 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 
Tit-ta or daddy. 

Wee image of my bonnie Betty, 
I fatherly will kiss and daut thee, 
As dear an' near my heart I set thee 

Wi' as gude will. 
As a' the priests had seen me get thee 

That's out o' hell. 

What tho' they ca' me fornicator, 
An' tease my name in kintra clatter: 
The mair they talk I'm kent the bet- 
ter, 

E'en let them clash ; 
An auld wife's tongue's a feckless 
matter 

To gie ane fash. 



Sweet fruit o' monie a merry dint. 

My funny toil is now a' tint, 

Sin' thou came to the warl asklent, 

Whichfoolsmay scoff at ; 
In my last plack thy part's be in't — 

The better haff o't. 

An' if thou be what I wad hae thee, 
An' tak the counsel I shall gie thee, 
A lovin' father I'll be to tliee, 

If thou be spar'd ; 
Thro' a' thy childish years I'll ee 
thee, 

An' think't weel war'd. 

Gude grant that thou may aye in- 
herit 
Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit, 
An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, 

Without his failins. 
Twill please me mair to hear an' 
see't, 

Than stockit mailins. 



1 Burns's illegjitimate daughter married Mr. John Bishop, overseer at Polkemmet, £ 
and died in 1817, She is said to have been strikingly like her father. 



LETTER TO JAMES TENNANT. 



J07 



LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK, 

ON THE PUBLICATION OP HIS ESSAYS. 



O Goudie! ^ terror of the Whigs, 
Dread o' black coats and rev'rend 

wigs, 
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin' looks back, 
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick. 



Poor gapin' 'glowrin' Superstition, 
Waes me ! she's in a sad condition ; 
Fy, bring Black-Jock, her state 
physician. 

To see her water ; 
Alas! there's ground o' great suspi- 
cion 

She'll ne' er get better. 



Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple. 
But now she's got an unco' ripple ; I 



Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel. 
Nigh unto death ; 

See how she fetches at the thrapple, 
An' gasps for breath. 

Enthusiasm's past redemption, 
Gaen in a galloping consumption. 
Not a' the quacks, with a' their 
gumption, 

Will ever mend her. 
Her feeble pulse gies strong pre- 
sumption. 

Death soon will end her. 

Tis you and Taylor 2 are the chief, 
Wha are to blame for this mischief; 
But gin the Lord's aiu folks gat leave, 

A toom tar-barrel 
An' twa red peats wad send relief. 

An' end the quarrel. 



LETTER TO JAMES TENNANT, GLENC0NNER.3 



Auld comrade dear and brither sin- 
ner, 
How's a' the folk about Glenconner; 
How do you this blae eastlin wind, 
That's like to blaw a body blind? 
For me, my faculties are frozen, 
My dearest member nearly dozen'd. 
I've sentyou here b}^ Johnnie Simson, 
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on ; 
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling. 
An' Reid, to common sense appeal- 
ing. 
Philosophers have fought an' wran- 
gled. 
An' meikle Greek an' Latin mangled. 
Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd, 
An' in the depth of Science mir'd. 



To common sense they now appeal, 
What wives an' wabsters see an, 

feel. 
But, hark ye, friend, I charge you 

strictly. 
Peruse them, an' return them quickly 
For now I'm grown sae cursed douse, 
I pra}'- an' ponder butt the house, 
My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin. 
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, an Bos 

ton; 
Till by an' by, if I hand on, 
I'll grunt a real Gospel-groan : 
Already I begin to try it, 
To cast my een up like a pyet, 
When bj^ the gun she tumbles o'er, 
Flutt'ring an' gaspin in her gore : 



^ In 1780 Mr. John Goldie, or Goudie, a tradesman in Kilmarnock, published a series 
of Essays touching? the authority of the Scriptures. A second edition of the work ap- 
peared in 178.5. Burns's epistle to him, althoup:h written when Ayrshire was convulsed 
with the Nf'ir Light and AuM Light controversies, was not published till 1801. It ap- 
peared first in a "rHasscow edition of the poems. 

* Dr. Tavlor of Norwich, the author of a work entitled " The Scripture Doctrine of 
Original Sin proposed to Free and CaTulid Examination," which was extensively read 
by the New Light party in Ayrshire at the time. 

"3 Mr. James Tennant of Glenconner was an old friend of the Poet, and was consulted 
by him respecting the taking of the farm of EUisland. 



208 



EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS TO MARIA. 



Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 
A burning an' a shining light. 
My heart-warm love to guid auld 

Glen, 
The ace an' wale of honest men : 
When bending down wi' auld gray 

hairs. 
Beneath the load of years and cares, 
May He who made him still support 

him, 
An' views beyond the grave comfort 

him 
His worthy fam'ly far and near, 
God bless them a'wi grace and gear! 
My auld school-fellow. Preacher 

Willie, 
The manly tar, my mason Billie, 
An' Auchenbay, I wish him joy; 
If he's a parent, lass or boy. 
May he be dad, and Meg the mither. 
Just five-and-forty years thegither! 
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie, 
I'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
An' Lord, remember singing Sannock, 
Wi' hale-breeks, saxpence, an' a ban- 
nock. 
An' next, my auld acquaintance, 

Nancy, 
Since she is fitted to her fancy ; 



An' 



till 



her ,kind stars liae airted 

her 
A good chiel wi' a pickle siller. 
My kindest, best respects I sen' it, 
To cousin Kate an' sister Janet ; 
Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cau- 
tious. 
For, faith, they'll aiblins fin' them 

fashions : 
To grant a heart is fairly civil, 
But to grant a maidenhead's the 

devil. — 
An' lastl3^ Jamie, for yoursel. 
May guardian angels tak a spell, 
An' steer you seven miles south o' 

hell. 
But first, before you see heav'n's 

glory. 
May ye get monie a merry story, 
Monie a laugh, and monie a drink, 
An' aye enough o' needfu' clink. 
Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' 

you'. 
For my sake this I beg it o' you. 
Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
Ye'll fin' him just an honest man; 
Sae I conclude and quat my chanter, 
Yours, saint or sinner, 

Rob the Ranter. 



EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS i TO MARIA. 

From those drear solitudes and frowzy cells. 
Where infamy with sad repentance dwells; 
Where turnkeys make the jealous portal fast, 
And deal from iron hands the spare repast ; 
Where truant 'prentices, yet young in sin, 
Blush at the curious stranger peeping in ; 
Where strumpets, relics of the drunken roar, 
Resolve to drink, nay. half to whore, no more; 
Where tiny thieves not destin'd yet to swing, 
Beat hemp for others, riper for the string: 
From these dire scenes my wretched lines I date, 
To tell Maria her Esopus' fate. 

" Alas ! I feel I am no actor here ! " 
'Tis real hangmen, real scourges bear ! 
Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale 
Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale ; 



* " The Esopus of this strange epistle," says Mr. Allan Cunningham, " was Williamson 
the actor, and the Maria to whom it was addressed was Mrs. Riddel." While William- 
son and his brother actors were performing at Whitehaven, Lord Lonsdale committed 
the whole to prison. 



EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS TO MARIA. 209 

Will make thy hair, tho' erst from gipsy poll'd, 

By barber woven, and by barber sold, 

Though twisted smooth with Harry's nicest care, 

Like hoary bristles to erect and stare. 

The hero of the mimic scene, no more 

I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar ; 

Or haughty Chieftain, 'mid the din of arms, 

In Highland bonnet woo Malvina's charms; 

While sans culottes stoop up the mountain high, 

And steal from me Maria's prying eye. 

Bless'd Highland bonnet ! Once my proudest dress, 

Now prouder still, Maria's temples press. 

I see her wave thy towering plumes afar. 

And call each coxcomb to the wordy war, 

I see her face the first of Ireland's sons. 

And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze; 

The crafty colonel leaves the tartan 'd lines. 

For other wars, where he a hero shines : 

The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate bred. 

Who owns a Bushby's heart without the head, 

Comes 'mid a string of coxcombs to display, 

That veiii, vidi, vici, is his way ; 

The shrinking bard adown an alley skulks. 

And dreads a meeting worse than Woolwich hulks; 

Though there, his heresies in church and state 

Might well award him Muir and Palmer's fate : 

Still she undaunted reels and rattles on. 

And dares the public like a noontide sun, 

(What scandal call'd Maria's jaunty stagger. 

The ricket reeling of a crooked swagger ? 

Whose spleen e'en worse than Burns's venom wiien 

He dips in gall unmix'd his eager pen, — 

And pours his vengeance in the burning line. 

Who christen'd thus Maria's lyre divine ; 

The idiot strum of vanity bemused. 

And even th' abuse of poesy abused ; 

Who call'd her verse a parish workhouse, made 

For motley, foundling fancies, stolen or stray'd ?) 

A workhouse ! ah, that sound awakes my woes, 

And pillows on the thorn my rack'd repose ! 

In durance vile here must I wake and weep, 

And all my frowzy couch in sorrow steep ; 

That straw where many a rogue has lain of yore, 

And vermin'd gipsies litter'd heretofore. 



Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on vagrants pour 

Must earth no rascal, save thyself, endure ? 

Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell. 

And make a vast monopoly of hell ? < 

Thou know'st, the virtues cannot hate thee worse. 

The vices also, must they club their curse ? 

Or must no tiny !>in to others fall. 

Because thy guilt's supreme enough for all ? 



210 



THE FAREWELL. 



Maria, send me too thy griefs and cares; 

In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares. 

As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls, 

Who on my fair-one satire's vengeance hurls? 

Who calls thee pert, affected, vain coquette, 

A wit in folly, and a fool in wit ? 

Who says that fool alone is not thy due, 

And quotes thy treacheries to prove it true ? 

Our force united on thy foes we'll turn. 

And dare the war with all of woman born: 

For who can write and speak as thou and I ? 

My periods that deciphering defy, 

And thy still matchless tongue that conquers all reply. 



ON A SUICIDE.i 

Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell. 
Planted by Satan's dibble — 

Poor silly wretch, he's damn'd himsel' 
To save the Lord the trouble. 



A FAREWELL.2 

Farewell, dear Friend ! may guid luck hit you, 
And, 'mang her favorites admit you ! 
If e'er Detraction shore to smit you. 

May nane believe him! 
And ony De'il that thinks to get you, 

Good Lord deceive him. 



THE FAREWELL.3 



Farewell, old Scotia's bleak do- 
mains, 
Far dearer than the torrid plains 

Where rich ananas blow ! 
Farewell, a mother's blessing dear ! 
A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear ! 

My Jean's heart-rending throe ! 
Farewell, my Bess! tho' thou'rt be- 
reft 

Of my parental care ; 
A faithful brother I have left, 



My part in him thou'lt share ! 
Adieu too, to you too. 

My Smith, my bosom frien': 
When kindly you mind me, 

O then befriend my Jean ! 

When bursting anguish tears my 

heart. 
From thee, my Jeanie, must I part ? 

Thou weeping answ'rest "no!" 
Alas ! misfortune stares my face, 



* A person named Glendining, who took away his own Hfe, was the subject of this 
epigram. Mr. Cunningham adds the following particulars : "My friend, Dr. Copland 
Hutchison, happened to be walking out that way "—to a place called the " Old Chapel 
near Dumfries," where Glendining had been interred. " He saw Burns with his foot on 
the grave, his hat on his knee, and paper laid on his hat, on which he was writing. He 
then took the paper, thrust it with his finger into the red mold of the grave, and went 
away. This was the above epigram, and such was the Poet's mode of publishing it." 

* These lines from the conclusion of a letter written by Burns to Mr. John Kennedy, 
dated August, 1786, while his intention yet held of emigrating to Jamaica. 

' " The Farewell " was written in the autumn of 1786, when the idea of emigration 
was firmly fixed iu the Poet's mind. 



EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. 



211 



And points to ruin and disgrace, 
I for thy sake must go ! 

Thee, Hamilton, and Aiken dear, 
A grateful, warm adieu ! 

I, with a much-indebted tear, 
Shall still remember you ! 



All-hail then, the gale then, 
Wafts me from thee, dear 
shore ! 

It rustles, and whistles, 
I'll never see thee more ! 



EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., 

OF FINTRY: 

WN THK CLOSE OF THE DISPUTED ELECTION BETWEEN SIR JAMES JOHNSTONE AND CAPTAIN 
MILLER, FOR THE DUMFRIES DISTRICT OF BOROUGHS. 

FiNTRY, my stay in worldly strife, 
Friend o' my Muse, friend o' my life, 

Are ye as idle's I am ? 
Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg, 
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg. 

And ye shall see me try him. 

ITl sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears 
Who left the all -important cares 

Of princes and their darlings; 
And, bent on winning borough towns. 
Came shaking hands wi' wabster loons. 

And kissing barefit carlins. 

Combustion thro' our boroughs rode 
Whistling his roaring pack abroad 

Of mad unmuzzled lions; 
As Queensberry buff and blue unfurl'd, 
And Westerha' and Hopeton hurl'd 

To every Whig defiance. 

But cautious Queensberry left the war, 
Th' unmanner'd dust might soil his star; 

Besides, he hated bleeding; 
But left behind him heroes bright, 
Heroes in Csesarean fight. 

Or Ciceronian pleading. 

O ! for a throat like huge Mons-Meg, 
To muster o'er each ardent Whig 

Beneath Drumlanrig's banner I 
Heroes and heroines commix. 
All in the field of politics, 

To win immortal honor. 



M'Murdo and his lovely spouse, 
(Th' enamor'd laurels kiss her brows !) 

Led on the loves and graces : 



212 EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. 

She won each gaping burgess' heart, 
While he, all-conquering, play'd his part 

Among their wives and lasses. 

Craigdarroch led a light-arm'd corps, 
Tropes, metaphors and figures pour. 

Like Hecla streaming thunder: 
Glenriddel, skiird in rusty coins, 
Blew up each Tory's dark designs, 

And bared the treason under. 

In either wing two champions fought, 
Redoubted Staig, who set at nought 

The wildest savage Tory: 
And Welsh, who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground, 
High-waved his magnum-bonum round 

With Cyclopean fury. 

Miller brought up th' artillery ranks. 
The many-pounders of the Banks, 

Resistless desolation! 
While Maxwelton, that baron bold, 
'Mid Lawson's port entrench'd his hold. 

And threaten'd worse damnation. 

To these what Tory hosts oppos'd, 
With these what Tory warriors clos'd. 

Surpasses my descriving: 
Squadrons extended long and large, 
With furious speed rush to the charge. 

Like raging devils driving. 

What verse can sing, what prose narrate, 
The butcher deeds of bloody fate 

Amid this mighty tulzie ! 
Grim Horror girn'd — pale Terror roar'd. 
As Murther at his thrapple shor'd, 

And Hell mix'd in the brulzie. 

As Highland crags by thunder cleft, 
When lightnings fire the stormy lift. 

Hurl down with crashing rattle ' 
As flames among a hundred woods ; 
As headlong foam a hundred floods ; 

Such is the rage of battle! 

The stubborn Tories dare to die ; 
As soon the rooted oaks would fly 

Before th' approaching fellers: 
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar, 
When all his wintry billows pour 

Against the Buchan Bullers. 



EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. 213 



Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night, 
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight, 

And think on former daring : 
The muffled murtherer of Charles 
The Magna Charta flag unfurls, 

All deadly gules its bearing. 

Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame, 

Bold Scrimgeour follows gallant Graham, 

Auld Covenanters shiver. 
(Forgive, forgive, much wrong'd Montrose ! 
iSTow death and hell engulf thy foes, 

Thou liv'st on high forever !) 

Still o'er the field the combat burns. 
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns ; 

But Fate the word has spoken, 
For woman's wit and strength o' man, 
Alas! can do but what they can! 

The Tory ranks are broken. 

O that my een were flowing bums ! 
My voice a lioness that mourns 

Her darling cubs' undoing ! 
That I might greet, that I might cry. 
While Tories fall, while Tories fly. 

And furious Whigs pursuing ! 

What Whig but melts for good Sir James ? 
Dear to his country by the names 

Friend, patron, benefactor! 
Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save ! 
And Hopeton falls, the generous brave ! 

And Stewart, bold as Hector! 

Thou, Pitt, Shalt rue this overthrow ; 
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe 

And Melville melt in wailing 1 
How Fox and Sheridan rejoice! 
And Burke shall sing, " O Prince, arise. 

Thy power is all-prevailing I ' 

For your poor friend, the Bard, afar 
He only hears and sees the war, 

A cool spectator purely! 
So, when the storm the forest rends. 
The robin in the hedge descends, 

And sober chirps securely. 



214 



VERSES. 



STANZAS ON THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY. 



How shall I sing Drumlanrig's 

Grace, 
Discarded remnant of a race 

Once great in martial story ? 
His forbears' virtues all contrast- 
ed— 
The very name of Douglas blasted — 
His that inverted glory. 



Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore ; 
But he has superadded more, 

And sunk them in contempt : 
Follies and crimes have stain'd the 

name. 
But, Queensberry, thine the virgin 
claim. 
From aught that's good exempt. 



VERSES 1 



ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS NEAR DRUMLANRIG. 



' * When glinting, through the trees, 
appear'd 

The wee white cot aboon the mill, 
And peacef u' rose its ingle reek. 

That slowly curled up the hill. 
But now the cot is bare and cauld. 

Its branchy shelter's lost and gane. 
And scarce a stinted birk is left 

To shiver in the blast its lane." 

" Alas ! " said I, " what ruefu' chance 
Has twined ye o' your stately trees? 
Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? 
Has stripp'd the deeding o' your 
braes ? 
Was it the bitter eastern blast, 
That scatters blight in early 
spring ? 
Or was't the wil'fire scorch'd their 
boughs, 
Or canker-worm wi' secret sting ? " 

"Nae eastlin blast," the sprite re- 
plied ; 
" It blew na here sae fierce and fell. 
And on my dry and halesome banks 
Nae canker-worms get leave to 
dwell : 
Man ! cruel man ! " the genius sigh'd — 
As through the cliffs he sank him 
down — 
" The worm that gnaw'd my bonnie 
trees. 
That reptile wears a ducal crown." 

1 These verses were inscribed by Burns on the back of a window-shutter of an inn or 
toll-house near the scene of the devastations. 



As on the banks o' wandering Nith, 

Ae smiling simmer-morn I stray'd, 
And traced its bonnie howes and 
haughs. 

Where Unties sang and lambkins 
play'd. 
I sat me down upon a craig, 

And drank my fill o' fancy's dream. 
When, from the eddying deep below. 

Uprose the genius of the stream. 

Dark, like the frowning rock , his brow, 

And troubled, like his wintry wave. 
And deep, as sughs the boding wind 

Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave — 
"And came ye here, my son," he cried, 

" To wander in my birken shade ? 
To muse some favorite Scottish 
theme, 

Or sing some favorite Scottish 
maid. 



** There was a time, it's nae lang syne, 
Ye might hae seen me in my pride, 
When a' my banks sae bravely saw 
Their woody pictures in my tide ; 
When hanging beech and spreading 
elm 
Shaded my stream sae clear and 
cool. 
And stately oaks their twisted arms 
Threw broad and dark across the 
pool; 



EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN. 



215 



EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN.i 



Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Wil- 
lie I 
Though fortune's road be rough an' 

hilly 
To every fiddling, rhyming billie, 

We never heed, 
But take it like the unback'd filly, 
Proud o' her speed. 

When idly goaven whyles we saun- 
ter, 
Yirr, fancy barks, awa' we canter 
Uphill, down brae, till some mishan- 
ter, 

Some black bog-hole. 
Arrests us, then the scathe an' banter 
We're forced to thole. 

Hale be your heart! Hale be your 

fiddle ! 
Lang may your elbuck jink and did- 
dle. 
To cheer you through the weary 
widdle 

O' this wild warl'. 
Until you on a crummock driddle 
A gray-hair'd carl. 

Come wealth, come poortith, late or 

soon. 
Heaven send your heart-strings ay in 

tune. 
And screw j'-our temper-pins aboon 

A fifth or mair, 
The melancholious, lazie croon, 
O' cankrie care. 

May still your life from day to day 

Nae ' ' lente largo " in the play, 

But "allegretto forte" gay 
Harmonious flow 

A sweeping, kindling, bauld strath- 
spey- 
Encore ! Bravo ! 

A blessing on the cheery gang 
Wha dearly like a jig or sang. 
An' never think o' right an' wrang 

By square an' rule, 
But as the clegs o' feeling stang 

Are wise or fool. 

* Major Logan, a retired military oflficer, 
who lived at Park, near Ayr, 



My hand-waled curse keep hard in 

chase 
The harpy, hoodock, purse-proud 

race, 
Wha count on poortith as disgrace — 

Their tuneless hearts ! 
May fire-side discords jar a base 
To a' their parts ! 

But come, your hand, my careless 

brither, 
I' th' ither warl' if there's anither. 
An' that there is I've little swither 

About the matter ; 
We cheek for chow shall jog the- 
gither, 

I'se ne'er bid better. 



We've faults and failings — granted 

clearly. 
We're frail backsliding mortals 

merely. 
Eve's bonnie squad priests wy te them 

sheerly 

For our grand fa' ; 
But still, but still, I like them dear- 

ly- 

God bless them a' ! 

Ochon for poor Castalian drinkers, 
When they fa' foul o' earthly j inkers. 
The witching curs'd delicious blink- 
ers 

Hae put me hyte. 
And gart me weet my waukrife 
winkers, 

Wi' girnin spite. 

But by yon moon ! — and that's high 

swearin' — 
An' every star within my hearin' ! 
An' by her een wha was a dear ane ! 

I'll ne'er forget ; 
I hope to gie the jads a clearin' 

In fair play yet. 

My loss I mourn, but not repent it, 

I'll seek my pursie whare I tint it, 

fond of wit, violin-playing, and conviviality, 



2l6 



LINES. 



Ance to the Indies I were wonted, 
Some cantraip hour, 

By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted, 
Then vive ianwur 1 



Faites mes haissemains 

To sentimental sister Susie, 

An' honest Lucky ; no to roose ye, 

Ye may be proud. 
That sic a couple Fate allows ye 

To grace your blood. 



Nae mair at present can I meas- 
ure. 
An' trowth my rhymin' ware's nae 

treasure ; 
But when in Ayr, some half hour's 
leisure, 

Be't light, be't dark, 
Sir Bard will do himself the pleasure 
To call at Park. 

Robert Burns 

Mossgiel, 30th October, 1786. 



EPITAPH ON THE POET'S DAUGHTER. 

Here lies a rose, a budding rose, 

Blasted before its bloom ; 
Whose innocence did sweets disclose 

Beyond that flower's perfume. 
To those who for her loss are grieved, 

This consolation's given — 
She's from a world of woe relieved, 

And blooms a rose in heaven. 



EPITAPH ON GABRIEL RICHARDSON.^ 

Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, 

And empty all his barrels : 
He's blest — if, as he brew'd, he drink, 

In upright honest morals. 

ON STIRLING. 

Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd. 
And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd; 
But now unroof'd their palace stands, 
Their scepter's sway'd by other hands; 
The injured Stuart line is gone, 
A race outlandish fills their throne. 
An idiot race to honor lost, 
Who know them best, despise them most. 



LINES 

ON BEING TOLD THAT THE ABOVE VERSES WOULD AFFECT HIS PROSPECTS. 

Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name. 

Shall no longer appear in the records of fame ; 

Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible, 

Says the more 'tis a truth, sir, the more 'tis a libel ? 

1 Gabriel Richardson was a brewer in Dumfries. The epitaph was written on a goblet* 
which is still preserved in the family. 



ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB. 



217 



REPLY TO THE MINISTER OF GLADSMUIR.1 

Like Esop's lion, Burns says, sore I feel 
All others scorn — but damn that ass's heel. 



EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER.2 



In this strange land, this uncouth 

clime, 
A land unknown to prose or rhyme ; 
Where words ne'er crost the Muse's 

heckles, 
Nor limpit in poetic shackles ; 
A land that prose did never view it. 
Except when drunk he stachert 

through it ; 
Here, ambush'd by the chimla cheek. 
Hid in an atmosphere of reek, 
I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, 
I hear it — for in vain I leuk. — 
The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 
Enhusked by a fog infernal : 
Here, for my wonted rhyming' rap- 
tures, 
I sit and count my sins by chapters ; 
For life and spunk like ither Chris- 
tians, 
I'm dwindled down to mere existence 
Wi' nae converse but Gallowa' bodies 
Wi' nae kend face but Jenny Geddes. 
Jenny, my Pegasean pride ! 
Dowie she saunters down Nithside, 
And aye a westlin leuk she throws, 
While tears hap o'er her auld brown 
nose! 



Was it for this, wi' canny care, 
Thou bure the Bard through many s 

shire ? 
At howes or hillocks never stumbled, 
And late or early never grumbled ? — 
O, had I power like inclination, 
I'd heeze thee up a constellation, 
To canter with the Sagitarre, 
Or loup the ecliptic liki3 a bar; 
Or turn the pole like any arrow ; 
Or, when auld Phoebus bids good 

morrow, 
Down the zodiac urge the race. 
And cast dirt on his godship's face ; 
For I could lay my bread and kail 
He'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy tail. — 
Wi' a' this care and a' this grief, 
And sma', sma' prospect of relief. 
And naught but peat reek i' my 

head, 
How can I write what ye can read ? — 
Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 
Ye'U find me in a better tune ; 
But till we meet and weet our 

whistle, 
Tak this excuse for nae epistle. 

Robert Burns, 



ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB 



TO THE PRESIDENT OP THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY. 



Long life, my Lord,^ an' health be 

yours, 
Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highland 

boors ; 
Lord grant nae duddio desperate 

beggar, 
Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger. 



May twin auld Scotland 0' a life 
She likes — as lambkins like a knife. 
Faith, you and Applecross were right 
To keep the Highland hounds in 

sight, 
I doubt na' ! they wad bid nae better 
Than let them ance outowre the water 



1 Written in reply to the minister of Gladsmuir, who had attacked:^ urns in verse rel- 
ative to the imprudent lines inscribed on a window-pane in Stirling. 

2 Written from EUisland to his friend Mr. Hugch Parker of Kilmarnock. 

8 These verses were originally headed, " To the Right Honorable, the Earl of Bread- 
albane, President of the Right Honorable and Honorable the Highland Society, which 
met on the 23d of May last, at the Shakespeare, Covent Garden, to concert ways and 



2l8 



TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY. 



Then up amang thae lakes and seas 
They'll mak' what rules and laws 

they please ; 
Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin, 
May set their Highland bluid a 

ranklin' ; 
Some Washington again may head 

them. 
Or some Montgomery fearless lead 

them, 
Till God knows what may be effected 
When by such heads and hearts di- 
rected ; 
Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire 
May to Patrician rights aspire ! 
Nae sage North, now, nor sager 

Sackville, 
To watch and premier o'er the pack 

vile, 
An' whare will ye get Howes and 

Clintons 
To bring them to aright repentance, 
To cowe the rebel generation, 
An' save the honor o' the nation? 
They an' be d d ! what right hae 

they 
To meat or sleep, or light o' day ! 
Far less to riches, pow'r, or freedom. 
But what your lordship likes to gie 

them? 

But hear, my lord ! Glengarry, hear ! 
Your hand's owre light on them, I 

fear; 
Your factors, grieves, trustees, and 

bailies, 
I canna' say iDut they do gay lies ; 
They lay aside a' tender mercies. 
An' tirl the hallions to the birses ; 



Yet while they're only poind't and 

herriet. 
They'll keep their stubborn High- 
land spirit ; 
But smash them ! crash them a' to 

spails ! 
An' rot the dyvors i' the jails! 
The young dogs, swinge them to the 

labor ! 
Let wark an' hunger mak' them so- 
ber! 
The hizzies, if they're aughtlins 

fawsont, 
Let them in Drury-lane be lesson'd ! 
An' if the wives an' dirty brats 
E'en thigger at your doors an' yetts 
Flaffan wi' duds an' grey wi' beas', 
Frightin' awa your deucks an' geese, 
Get out a horsewhip or a jowler. 
The langest thong, the fiercest growl- 
er 
An gar the tatter'd gypsies pack 
Wi' a' their bastarts on their back ! 
Go on, my lord ! I lang to meet 

you. 
An' in my house at hame to greet 

you; 
Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle. 
The benmost neuk beside the ingle. 
At my right han' assign'd your seat 
'Tween Herod's hip an' Polycrate, — 
Or if you on your station tarrow 
Between Almagro and Pizarro, 
A seat, I'm sure, ye're weel deser- 

vin 't ; 
An' till ye come — your humble ser- 
vant. 

Beelzebub. 

June 1, Anno Mundi, 5790, 



TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY.i 



Now Kennedy, if foot or horse 
E'er bring you in by Mauchline Corss, 
Lord, man, there's lasses there wad 
force 



A hermit's fancy, 
And down the gate in faith they're 
worse 

And mair unchancy. 



means to frustrate the designs of five hundred Highlanders, who, as the Society were 
informed by Mr. Mackenzie of Applecross, were so audacious as to attempt an escape 
from their lawful lords and masters, whose property they were, by emigrating from 
the lands of Mr. M'Donald of Glengarry to the wilds of Canada in search of that fantas- 
tic thing— Liberty." 

1 These verses from the conclusion of a letter written to Mr, John Kennedy from 
Mossgiel, of date 3d March, 1786. 



ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT DUNDAS, ESQ. 



219 



But as I'm sayin' please step to Dow's 
And taste sic gear as Jolmny brews, 
Till some bit callan brings me news 

That you are there, 
And if we dinna baud a bouze 

I'se ne'er drink mair. 

It's no I like to sit an' swallow, 
Then like a swine to puke and wal- 
low 
But gie me just a true good fallow 

Wi' right ingine, 
And spunkie ance to make us mel- 
low, 

And then we'll shine. 



Now if ye're ane o' warl's folk, 
Wha rate the wearer by the cloak, 
An' sklent on poverty their joke, 

Wi' bitter sneer, 
Wi' you no friendship I will troke 

Nor cheap nor dear. 



But if, as I'm informed weel, 
Ye hate as ill's the vera deil, 
The flinty hearts that canna feel — 

Come, Sir, here's tae you ; 
Hae there's my haun', I wiss you 
weel, 

And gude be wi' you. 



ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT DUNDAS, ESQ. a 

OP ARNISTON, LATE LORD PRESIDENT OP THE COURT OP SESSION. 

Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks 
Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks; 
Down from the rivulets, red with dashing rains, 
The gathering floods burst o'er the distant plains; 
Beneath the blasts the leafless forests groan ; 
The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 

Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves, 
Ye howling winds, and wintry swelling waves! 
Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye. 
Sad to your sympathetic scenes I fly ; 
Where to the whistling blast and water's roar, 
Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore. 

O heavy loss, thy country ill could bear ! 

A loss these evil days can ne'er repair ! 

Justice, the high vicegerent of her God, 

Her doubtful balance eyed, and sway'd her rod; 

Hearing the tidings of the fatal blow. 

She sunk, abandon'd to the wildest woe. 

Wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome den, 
Now gay in hope explore the paths of men: 
See from his cavern grim Oppression rise. 
And throw on Poverty his cruel eyes ; 
Keen on the helpless victim see him fly. 
And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting cry : 

* Lord President Dundas died on the 13th December, 1787, and Burns composed the 
elegy at the suggestion of Mr. Charles Hay, advocate, afterwards elevated to the 
bench under the designation of Lord Newton. On a copy of the elegy Burns afterwards 
wrote : " The foregoing poem has some tolerable lines in it, but the incurable wound 
of my pride will not suffer me to correct, or even to peruse it. I sent a copy of it, with 
my best prose letter, to the son of the great man, by the hands of one of the noblest 
men in God's world, Alexander Wood, surgeon. When, behold I his solicitorship took 
no more notice of my poem or me than if I had been a strolling fiddler, who had made 
free with his lady's name over a silly new reel. Did the gentleman imagine that I looked 
for any dirty gratuity ? " 



:20 



LINES WRITTEN AT LOUDON MANSE. 



Mark ruffian Violence, distain'd with crimes, 

Rousing elate in these degenerate times ; 

View unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 

As guileful Fraud points out the erring way ; 

While subtile Litigation's pliant tongue 

The life-blood equal sucks of Right and Wrong: 

Hark, injured Want recounts th' unlisten'd tale, 

And much-wrong'd Mis'ry pours th' unpitied wail! 



Ye dark waste hills, and brown unsightly plains, 
To you I sing my grief -inspired strains : 
Ye tempests rage ! ye turbid torrents, roll ! 
Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul. 
Life's social haunts and pleasures I resign, 
Be nameless wilds and lonely wanderings mine, 
To mourn the woes my country must endure, 
That wound degenerate ages cannot cure. 

TO JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ. 



O, COULD I give thee India's wealth. 

As I this trifle send ! 
Because thy joy in both would 
be 

To share them with a friend. 



But golden sands did never grace 

The Heliconian stream ; 
Then take what gold could never 
buy. 

An honest Bard's esteem. 



ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG, ^ 



NAMED ECHO. 



In wood and wild, ye warbling 

throng, 
Your heavy loss deplore ; 
Now half-extinct your powers of 

song, 



Sweet Echo is no more. 
Ye jarring, screeching things around 

Scream your discordant joys; 
Now half your din of tuneless sound 

With Echo silent lies. 



LINES WRITTEN AT LOUDON MANSE.2 



The night was still, and o'er the hill 
The moon shone on the castle wa' ; 

The mavis sang, while dew-drops 
hang 
Around her, on the castle wa'. 



Sae merrily they danced the ring, 
Frae e'enin' till the cock did 
craw; 

And aye the o'erword o' the spring, 
Was Irvine's bairns are bonnie a'. 



1 Written at Castle Kenmure at the request of Mr. Gordon, whose dog had recently 
died. 

2 These lines were preserved by Miss Louisa Laurie, and appear to have been written 
on the same evening with the well-known " Verses left in the room where he slept." 



ORTHODOX, ORTHODOX. 



221 



ORTHODOX, ORTHODOX. 



A SECOND VERSION OF THE KIRK'S ALARM. 



Orthodox, orthodox, 
Who believe in John Knox, 
Let me sound an alarm to your con- 
science — 
There's an heretic blast, 
Has been blawn i' the wast 
That what is not sense must be non- 
sense, 

Orthodox, 
That what is not sense must be non- 
sense. 

Doctor Mac, Doctor Mac, 

Ye should stretch on a rack, 
To strike evil-doers wi' terror ; 

To join faith and sense, 

Upon any pretence, 
Was heretic damnable error. 

Doctor Mac, 
Was heretic damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 

It was rash, I declare, 
To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing; 

Provost John is still deaf 

To the Church's relief, 
And orator Bob is its ruin. 

Town of Ayr, 
And orator Bob is its ruin. 

D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild 
Tho' your heart's like a child, 
And your life like the new-driven 
snaw. 
Yet that winna save ye. 
Old Satan must have ye 
For preaching that three's ane an' 
twa, 

D'rymple mild. 
For preaching that three's ane an' 
twa. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, 
Seize your spiritual guns, 
Ammunition you never can need ; 
Your hearts are the stuff, 
Will be powder enough, 



And your skulls are a storehouse of 

lead, 

Calvin's sons, 
And your skulls are a storehouse of 

lead 

Rumble John, Rumble John, 
Mount the steps with a groan, 

Cry the book is with heresy cramm'd ; 
Then lug out your ladle. 
Deal brimstone like aidle, 

And roar every note o' the damn'd, 
Rumble John, 

And roar every note o' the damn'd. 

Simper James, Simper James, 
Leave the fair Killie dames, 
There's a holier chase in your view ; 
I'll lay on your head, 
That the pack ye'll soon lead. 
For puppies like you there's but few, 

Simper James, 
For puppies like you there's but 
few. 

Singet Sawnie, singet Sawnie, 

Are ye herding the penny, 
Unconscious what danger awaits ? 

With a jump, yell, and howl, 

Alarm every soul. 
For Hannibal's just at your gates, 

Singet Sawnie, 
For Hannibal's just at your gates. 

Andrew Gowk, Andrew Gowk 
Ye may slander the book. 
And the book nought the waur — let 
me tell you ; 
Tho' ye're rich and look big, 
Yet lay by hat and wig, 
And ye'll hae a calf's-head o' sma' 
value, 

Andrew Gowk, 
And ye'll hae a calf's-head o' sma' 
value. 

Poet Willie, Poet Willie, 
Gie the doctor a volley, 



222 



ORTHODOX, ORTHODOX. 



Wi' your " liberty's chain " and your 
wit: 
O'er Pegasus' side, 
Ye ne'er laid a stride, 
Ye only stood by when he sh — , 

Poet Willie, 
Ye only stood by when he sh — . 

Bar Steenie, Bar Steenie, 
What mean ye ? what mean ye? 
If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the mat- 
ter, 
Ye may hae some pretence, man, 
To havins and sense, man, 
Wi' people that ken you nae better, 

Bar Steenie, 
Wi' people that ken you nae better. 

Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose, 
Ye hae made but toom roose, 
0' hunting the wicked Lieutenant ; 
But the doctor's your mark. 
For the Lord's holy ark. 
He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrang 
pin in't, 

Jamie Goose, 
He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrang 
pin in't. 

Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster, 
For a saunt if ye muster, 
It's a sign they're no nice o' recruits, 
Yet to worth let's be just, 
Royal blood ye might boast. 
If the ass were the King o' the 
brutes. 

Davie Bluster, 
If the ass were the King o' the 
brutes. 

Muirland George, Muirland 

George, 
Whom the Lord make a scourge. 
To claw common sense for her sins ; 
If ill manners were wit. 
There's no mortal so fit 



To confound the poor doctor at ance, 

Muirland George, 
To confound the poor doctor at ance 

Cessnockside, Cessnockside, 

Wi' your turkey-cock pride, 

O' manhood but sma' is your share! 

Ye've the figure, it's true. 

Even our foes maun allow, 

And your friends daurua say ye hae 

mair 

Cessnockside, 
And your friends daurna say ye hae 
mair 

Daddie Auld, Daddie Auld, 
There's a tod i' the fauld, 

A tod meikle waur than the clerk; 
Tho' ye downa do skaith, 
Ye'll be in at the death, 

And if ye canna bite, ye can bark. 
Daddie Auld 

And if ye canna bite, ye can bark, 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, 
Wi' your priest-skelping turns. 
Why desert ye your auld native 
shire ? 
Tho' your Muse is a gipsy, 
Yet were she even tipsy. 
She could ca' us nae waur than we 
are, 

Poet Burns, 
She could ca' us nae waur than we 
are. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Afton's Laird, Afton's Laird, 
When your pen can be spared, 
A copy o' this I bequeath, 
On the same sicker score 
I mentioned before. 
To that trusty auld worthy Clack- 
leith, 

Afton's Laird, 
To that trusty auld worthy Clack- 
leith. 



ON MISS JESSY LEWARS. 



223 



THE SELKIRK GRACE.i 

Some hae meat, and canna eat, 
And some wad eat that want it ; 

But we hae meat and we can eat, 
And sae the Lord be thanket. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF PEG NICHOLSON 2 



Peg Nicholson was a gude bay- 
mare, 

As ever trode on airn ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 

An' past the mouth o' Cairn. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, 
An' rode thro' thick an' thin ; 

But now she's floating down the Nith, 
An' wanting even the skin. 



Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, 
An' ance she bare a priest ; 

But now she's floating down the Nith, 
For Solway fish a feast. 

Peg Nicholson w^as a gude bay mare, 
An' the priest he rode her sair ; 

An' meikle oppress'd an' bruised she 
was, 
As priest-rid cattle are. 



ON SEEING MISS FONTENELLE 



IN A FAVORITE CHARACTER. 



Sweet naivete of feature, 
Simple, wild, enchanting elf, 

Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, 
Thou art acting but thyself. 



Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected. 
Spurning nature, torturing art ; 

Loves and graces all rejected. 
Then indeed thou'dst act a part. 



b^ 



THE SOLEMN LEAGUE AND COVENANT. » 

The Solemn League and Covenant 

Cost Scotland blood — cost Scotland tears ; 

But it sealed Freedom's sacred cause — 
If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers. 

ON MISS JESSY LEWARS.4 



ALK not to me of savages 
From Afric's burning sun, 
No savage e'er could rend my heart, 
As, Jessy, thou hast done. 



But Jessy's lovely hand in mine, 

A mutual faith to plight. 
Not ev'n to view the heavenly choir. 

Would be so blest a sight. 



1 "The Grace " was repeated at St. Mary's Isle at the request of the Earl of Selkirk. 

* The mare, which was nameti after the insane female who attempted the life of 
George III., was the property of Burns's friend, Mr. William Nicol. 

3 These lines were written on a page of the Statistical Account of Scotland, vol. xiii., 
contammg a description of the parish of Balmaghie. The minister, after quoting one 
of the simple, rude martyrs' epitaphs, adds—" The author of which no doubt supposed 
himself to have been writing poetry." This captious remark called forth Burns's lines. 
The book, with the poet's comment, is preserved in the Mechanics' Institute, Dumfries. 
It IS curious as the only expression of sympathy with the Covenanting cause which 
occurs in Burns. 

* While Miss Lewars was attending Burns she became slightly indisposed. " You must 



224 



INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET. 



EPITAPH ON MISS JESSY LEWARS. 

Say, Sages, what's the charm on earth 
Can turn Death's dart aside ? 

It is not purity and worth, 
Else Jessy had not died. 

THE RECOVERY OF JESSY LEWARS.i 

But rarely seen since Nature's birth, 

The natives of the sky, 
Yet still one Seraph's left on earth, 

For Jessy did not die. 

THE T0AST.2 

Fill me with the rosy wine, 
Call a toast, a toast divine ; 
Give the Poet's darling flame, 
Lovely Jessy be the name ; 
Then thou mayest freely boast, 
Thou has given a peerless toast, 

THE KIRK OF LAMINGTOK 

As cauld a wind as ever blew, 
A caulder kirk, and in't but few ; 
As cauld a minister's e'er spak, 
Ye'se a' be het ere I eome back. 



WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF 

OF ONE OP MISS HANNAH MORE'S WORKS WHICH SHE HAD GIVEN. 



Thou flattering mark of friendship 

kind. 
Still may thy pages call to mind 
The dear, the beauteous donor : 
Though sweetly female every part, 
Yet such a head, and more the 
heart. 
Does both the sexes honor. 



She show'd her tastes refin'd and just, 

When she selected thee, 
Yet deviating, own I must. 
For so approving me. 

But kind still, I'll mind still 

The giver in the gift ; 
I'll bless her and wiss her 
A Friend above the Lift, 



INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET. 

WRITTEN IN THE HOUSE OF MR. SYME. 

There's death in the cup — sae beware ! 

Nay, more — there is danger in touching ; 
But wha can avoid the fell snare ? 

The man and his wine's sae bewitching ! 

not die yet," said the poet ; and writing the four lines on a goblet he presented it, say- 
ing, "This will be a companion for the ' Toast.' " 

1 On Miss Lewars recovering he said, "There is a poetic reason for it, and wrote 
thf's© linGS 

2 .1 rp^g Toast " was written by Burns on a goblet, and presented to Miss Lewars. 



WILLIE CHALMERS. 



225 



THE BOOK-WORMS. 

Through and through the inspired leaves, 
Ye maggots, make your windings; 

But, oh ! respect liis lordship's taste, 
Aiid spare his golden bindings. 



ON ROBERT RIDDEL. 

To Riddel, much-lamented man, 

This ivied cot was dear ; 
Reader, dost value matchless worth ? 

This ivied cot revere. 



WILLIE CHALMERS.i 



I doubt na fortune may you shore 

Some mim-mou'd pouther'd priest- 
ie, 
Fu' lifted up wi" Hebrew^ lore, 

And band upon his breastie : 
But oh ! what signifies to 3^ou, 

His lexicons and grammars ; 
The feeling heart's the royal blue, 

And that's wi' Willie Chalmers. 



his 



Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride. 

And eke a braw new brechan, 
My Pegasus I'm got astride. 

And up Parnassus pechin ; 
Whiles owre a bush wi' downward 
crush. 

The doited beastie stammers ; 
Then up he gets, and off he sets 

For sake o' Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt na, lass, that weel kenn'd 
name 

May cost a pair o' blushes ; 
I am nae stranger to your fame 

Nor his warm urged wishes. 
Your bonnie face sae mild and sweet. 

His honest heart enamours. 
And faith ye'll no be lost a' whit, 

Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers. 

Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye're 
fair, 

And Honor safely back her,. 
And Modesty assume your air. 

And ne'er a ane mistak' her: 
And sic twa love-inspiring een 

Might fire even holy Palmers; 
Nae wonder tlien they've fatal been 

To honest Willie Chalmers. 

1 Mr. Chalmers was a writer in Ayr, and in love. He desired Burns to address the 
lady in his behalf. 

IS 



Some gapin' glowrin' countra laird 

May warsle for j^our favor ; 
May claw his lug, and straik 
beard, 

And hoast up some palaver. 
My bonnie maid, before ye w^ed 

Sic clumsy-witted hammers. 
Seek Heaven for help, and barefit 
skelp 

Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Forgive the Bard ! my fond regard 

For ane that shares my bosom, 
Inspires my muse to gie 'm his dues. 

For de'il a hair I roose him. 
May powers aboon unite you soon. 

And fructify your amours, — 
And every year come in mair dear 

To you and Willie Chalmers. 



226 BURNS — EXTEMPORE. 



TO JOHN TAYLORi 



With Pegasus upon a day, 

Apollo weary flying, 
Through frosty hills the journey lay, 

On foot the way was plying. 

Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus 

Was but a sorry walker ; 
To Vulcan then Apollo goes, 

To get a frosty calker. 



Obliging Vulcan fell to work, 
Threw by his coat and bonnet. 

And did Sol's business in a crack ; 
Sol paid him with a sonnet. 

Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, 

Pity my sad disaster ; 
My Pegasus is poorly shod — 

I'll pay you like my master. 



LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK-NOTE.2 

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf ! 
Fell source o' a' my woe and grief ! 
For lack o' thee I've lost my lass ! 
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass ! 
I see the children of affliction 
Unaided, thro' thy curs'd restriction. 
I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile, 
Amid his hapless victim's spoil. 
For lack o' thee I leave this much-lov'd shore, 
Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more. 

R. B. " ■ 



THE LOYAL NATIVES' VERSES. 

Ye sons of sedition, give ear to my song, 
Let Syme, Burns, and Maxwell pervade every throng, 
With Cracken the attorney, and Mundell the quack. 
Send Willie the monger to hell with a smack. 

These verses were handed over the table to Burns at a convivial meeting, and he en- 
dorsed the subjoined reply : 

BURNS— EXTEMPORE. 

Ye true " Loyal Natives,'' attend to my song, 

In uproar and riot rejoice the night long; 

From envy and hatred your corps is exempt ; 

But where is your shield from the darts of contempt ? 

1 Burns arrived at Wanlockhead on a winter day, and was anxious to have the shoes 
of his mare frosted. The smith was busy, and could not attend. Burns then scrib- 
bled these verses to Mr. John Taylor, a person of some importance in the place. 
Through Taylor's influence the smith's services were secured; and for thirty years 
afterwards it is said Vulcan was in the habit of boasting "that he had never been 
weel paid but ance, and that was by a poet, who paid him in money, paid him in drink, 
and paid him in verse." ■, ^ 4. ^ ■, t. 

2 The note on which Burns wrote these lines is of the Bank of Scotland, dated 1st, 
March, 1780. 



" IN VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE.** 22/ 



REMORSE. 

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace, 

That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish, 

Beyond comparison the worst are those 

That to our folly or our guilt we owe. 

In every other circumstance, the mind 

Has this to say— " It was no deed of mine ; " 

But when to all the evil of misfortune 

This sting is added—" Blame thy foolish self ! " 

Or worser far, the pangs of keen Remorse ; 

The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt— 

Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others; 

The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us, 

Nay, more, that very love their cause of ruini' 

O burning hell ! in all thy store of torments, 

There's not a keener lash ! 

Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart 

Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime. 

Can reason down its agonizing throbs ; 

And, after proper purpose of amendment, 

Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace? 

O, happy ! happy ! enviable man ! 

O glorious magnanimity of soul ! 

THE T0AD-EATER.1 

What of earls with whom you have supt, 
And of dukes that you dined with yestreen ? 

Lord ! a louse. Sir, is still but a louse. 
Though it crawl on the curls of a Queen. 



TO- 



Sm, 
Yours this moment I unseal, 

And faith I am gay and hearty ! 
To tell the truth an' shame the Deil 

I am as f u' as Bartie : 



Mossgiel, 1786 

But foorsday. Sir, my promise leal 

Expect me o' your party, 
If on a beastie I can speel, 

Or hurl in a cartie. R. B. 



"IN VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE." 

« 
In vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer, 
Point out a cens'ring world, and bid me fear; 
Above that world on wings of love I rise, 
I know its worst— and can that worst despise. 

t^JliSiSiniSiJ^:^^^^ ^''■""""'"' "'«' ™«talktog mighOly 01 duke, at 



22^ TAM THE CHAPMAN. 

"Wrong'd, injur'd, shunn'd; unpitied, unredrest, 
The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest." 
Let Prudence' direst bodements on me fall, 
Clarinda, rich reward ! o'erpays them all ! 

"THOUGH FICKLE FORTUNE." i 

Though fickle Fortune has deceiv'd me, 

She promis'd fair and perf orm'd but ill ; 
Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me, 

Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. — 
I'll act with prudence as far's I'm able, 

But if success I must never find. 
Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome, 

I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind. — 

"I BURN, I BURN." 

* I BURN, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd com 
By driving winds the crackling flames are borne," 
Now maddening, wild, I curse that fatal night ; 
Now bless the hour which charm'd my guilty sight. 
In vain the laws their feeble force oppose : 
Chain'd at his feet they groan, Love's vanquish'd foes ; 
In vain religion meets my sinking eye ; 
I dare not combat — but I turn and fly ; 
Conscience in vain upbraids th' unhallow'd fire ; 
Love grasps his scorpions — stifled they expire! 
Reason drops headlong from his sacred throne, 
Your dear idea reigns and reigns alone : 
Each thought intoxicated homage yields, 
And riots wanton in forbidden fields ! 

By all on high adoring mortals know ! 
By all the conscious villain fears below ! 
By your dear self! — the last great oath I swear; 
Nor life nor soul were ever half so dear ! 

EPIGRAM ON A NOTED COXCOMB. 

Light lay the earth on Billy's breast. 

His chicken heart so tender ; 
But build a castle on his head. 

His skull will prop it under. 

TAM THE CHAPMAN. « 

As Tarn the Chapman on a day 

Wi' Death forgather'd by the way, 

Weel pleas'd, he greets a wight sae famous, 

And Death was nae less pleased wi' Thomas, 

* These lines occur in one of the letters to Clarinda. 

2 Mr. Cobbett who first printed these lines, says: "It is our fortune to know a Mr. 
Kennedy, an aged gentleman, a native of Scotland, and the early friend and associate 



I 



PROLOGUE. 229 



Wha cheerfully lays down the pack, 
And there blaws up a hearty crack ; 
His social, friendly, honest heart, 
Sae tickled Death they could na part : 
Sae after viewing knives and garters, 
Death takes him hame to gie him quarters. 

TO DR. MAXWELL, 

ON MISS JESSY STAIG'S RECOVERY. 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave. 

That merit I deny : 
Tou save fair Jessy from the grave! 

An Angel could not die 

FRAGMENT. 



Now health forsakes that angel face, 
Nae mair my dearie smiles ; 

Pale sickness withers ilka grace. 
And a' my hopes beguiles. 



The cruel powers reject the prayer 

I hourly mak' for thee ; 
Ye heavens, how great is my despair, 

How can I see him die ! 



THERE'S NAETHING LIKE THE HONEST NAPPY. 



There's naething like the honest 

nappy ! 
Whaur'll ye e'er see men sae happy, 
Or women sousie, saft, an' sappy, 

'Tween morn an' morn, 
As them wha like to taste the drappie 
In glass or horn. 



I've seen me daez't upon a time ; 
I scarce could wink or see a styme ; 
Just ae hauf mutchkin does me 
prime, 

Ought less is little. 

Then back I rattle on the rhyme 

As gleg's a whittle ! 



I 



PROLOGUE. 

SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS, ON HIS BENEPIT-NIGHT, MONDAY, APRIL 16, 1787. 

When by a generous public's kind acclaim, 
That dearest meed is granted — honest fame ; 
When here your favor is the actor's lot, 
Nor even the man in private life forgot; 
What breast so dead to heav'nly virtue's glow, 
But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe ? 

Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng. 
It needs no Siddons' power in Southern's song ; 

of Robert Burns. Both were born in Ayrshire, near the town of Ayr, so frequently 
celebrated in the poems of the bard. Burns, as is well known, was a poor peasant's 
son; and in the " Cotter's Saturday Niprht," gives a noble picture of what we may pre- 
sume to be the family circle of his father. Kennedy, whose boyhood was passed in 
the labors of a farm, subsequently became the agent to a mercantile house in a neigh- 
boring town. Hence he is called, in an epitaph which his friend the Poet wrote on- 
him, ' The Chapman.' These lines, omitted in all editions of Burns's works, were com- 
posed on Kennedy's recovery from a severe illness. On his way to kirk on a bright 
Sabbath morning, he was met by the Poet, who, having rallied him on the sombre ex- 
pression of his countenance, fell back, and soon rejoined him, presenting him with the 
epitaph scrawled on a bit of paper, with a pencil.' 



230 



nature's law. 



But here an ancient nation, fam'd afar 

For genius, learning high, as great in war — 

Hail, Caledonia ! name forever dear ! 

Before whose sons I'm honor'd to appear ! 

Where every science, every nobler art — 

That can inform the mind, or mend the heart, 

Is known ; as grateful nations oft have found, 

Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. 

Philosophy, no idle, pedant dream. 

Here holds her search, by heaven-taught Reason's beam; 

Here History paints with elegance and force, 

The tide of Empire's fluctuating course ; 

Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into plan. 

And Harley rouses all the god in man. 

When well-form'd taste and sparkling wit unite, 

With manly love, or female beauty bright, 

(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace 

Can only charm us in the second place,) 

Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear, 

As on this night, I've met these judges here! 

But still the hope Experience taught to live, 

Equal to judge — you're candid to forgive. 

No hundred-headed Riot here we meet. 

With decency and law beneath his feet, 

Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name ; 

Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame. 

O Thou, dread Power ! whose empire-giving hand 
Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honor'd land ! 
Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire • 
May every son be worthy of his sire ; 
Firm may she rise with generous disdain 
At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain ; 
Still self-dependent in her native shore, 
Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar, 
TiU Fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more. 



NATURE'S LAW.i 



A POEM HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO G. H., ESQ. 



Great nature spoke, observant man obeyed. 



Pope. 



Let other heroes boast their scars, 

The marks of sturt and strife : 
And other Poets sing of wars, 

The plagues of human life ; 
Shame fa' the fun ; wi' sword and 
gun 

To slap mankind like lumber ! 
I sing his name and nobler fame, 

Wha multiplies our number. 



Great Nature spoke, with air benign, 

' ' Go on, ye human race ! 
This lower world I you resign ; 

Be fruitful and increase. 
The liquid fire of strong desire 

I've pour'd it in eacii bosom; 
Here, in this hand, does mankind 
stand. 

And there, is Beauty's Blossom ! " 



1 These verses, inscribed to Gavin Hamilton, were printed for the first time in Picker 
tag's edition. 



TRAGIC FRAGMENT. 



231 



The Hero of these artless strains, 

A lowlj^ Bard was he, 
Who sung his rhymes in Coila's 
plains 

With meikle mirth an' glee ; 
Kind Nature's care had given his 
share, 

Large, of the flaming current ; 
And, all devout, he never sought 

To stem the sacred torrent. 

He felt the powerful, high behest. 

Thrill, vital, thro' and thro' ; 
And sought a correspondent breast, 

To give obedience due ; 
PropitiousPowersscreen'd the young 
fiow'rs, 

From mildews of abortion; 
And lo ! the Bard, a great rcAvard, 

Has got a double portion ! 



Auld, cantie Coil may count the 
day, 

As annual it returns, 
The third of Libra's equal sway, 

That gave another Burns, 
With future rhymes, an' other times, 

To emulate his sire ; 
To sing auld Coil in nobler style 

With more poetic fire. 

Ye Powers of peace, and peaceful 
song, 

Look down with gracious eyes ; 
And bless auld Coila, large and 
long. 

With multiplying joys. 
Long may she stand to prop the land 

The flow'r of ancient nations; 
And Burnses spring, her fame to sing, 

To endless generations ! 



THE CATS LIKE KITCHEN. 



The cats like kitchen ; 

The dogs like broo ; 
The lasses like the lads weel. 

And th' auld wives too. 



CHORUS. 

And we're a' noddin, 

Nid, nid, noddin. 
We're a' noddin fou at e'en. 



b 



TRAGIC FRAGMENT.i 

All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 

A harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting villain, 

Still my heart melts at human wretchedness; 

And with sincere tho' unavailing sighs 

I view the helpless children of distress. 

With tears of indignation I behold th' oppressor 

Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction, 

Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime. 

Even you, ye helpless crew, I pity 3'ou ; 

Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity; 

Ye poor, despis'd, abandon'd vagabonds. 

Whom vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to Ruin. 

but for kind, tho" ill-requited friends, 

1 had been driven forth like you forlorn. 

The most detested, worthless wretch among you! 

O injur'd God ! Thy goodness has endow 'd me 

With talents passing most of my compeers. 

Which I in just proportion have abus'd. 

As far surpassing other common villains. 

As Thou in natural parts hadst given me more. 



^ Burns in early life sketched the outlines of a tragedy, and the " Tragic Fragment" 
was "an exclamation from a great character— great in occasional Instances of gener- 
osity, and daring at times, in villainies. He is supposed to meet a child of misery and 
exclaims to himself." 



232 



FRAGMENTS. 



EXTEMPORE. 

ON PASSING A lady's CARRIAGE. [MRS. MARIA RIDDEL'S.] 

If you- rattle along like your mistress's tongue, 

Your speed will out-rival the dart : 
But, a fly for your load, you'll break down on the road, 

If your stuff be as rotten's her heart. 



FRAGMENTS. 



Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie, 

Ye've lien a' wrang ; 
Ye've lien in an unco bed. 

And wi' a fremit man. 
O ance ye danced upon the knowes, 

And ance ye lightly sang — 
But in berrying o' a bee byke, 

I'm rad ye've got a stang. 



O GiE my love brose, brose, 

Gie my love brose and butter ; 
For nane in Carrick or Kyle 

Can please a lassie better. 
The lav'rock lo'es the grass, 

The muirhen lo'es the heather ; 
But gie me a braw moonlight, 

And me and my love together. 



Lass, when your mither is f rae hame, 

Might I but be sae bauld 
As come to your bower-window. 

And creep in frae the cauld, 
As come to your bower-window 

And when it's cauld and wat. 
Warm me in thy sweet bosom ; 

Fair lass, wilt thou do that? 

Young man, gif ye should be sae kind, 

When our gudewife's frae hame, 
As come to my bower- window, 

Whare I am laid my lane. 
And warm thee in my bosom — 

But I will tell thee what, 
The way to me lies through the kirk, 

Young man, do you hear that ? 



I MET a lass, a bonnie lass, 

Coming o'er the braes o' Couper, 



Bare her leg and bright her een. 
And handsome ilka bit about her. 

Weel I wat she was a quean 
Wad made a body's mouth to 
water ; 

Our Mess John, wi' his lyart pow, 
His haly lips wad lickit at her. 



O WAT ye what my minnie did, 
My minnie did, my minnie did, 

wat ye wat my minnie did, 
On Tysday 'teen to me, jo ? 

She laid me in a saft bed, 

A saft bed, a saft bed, 
She laid me in a saft bed. 

And bade gudeen to me, jo. 

An' wat ye what the parson did, 

The parson did, the parson did, 
An' wat ye what the parson did, 

A' for a penny fee, jo? 
He loosed on me a lang man, 

A mickle man, a Strang man. 
He loosed on me a lang man, 

That might hae worried me, jo. 

An' I was but a young thing, 
A young thing, a young thing, 
An' I was but a young thing, 
Wi' nane to pity me, jo. 

1 wat the kirk was in the wyte, 
In the wyte, in the wyte, 

To pit a young thing in a fright. 
An' loose a man on me, jo. 



O CAN ye labor lea, young man, 

An' can ye labour lea ; 
Gae back the gate ye cam' again, 
I Ye'se never scorn me. 



EPITAPH ON WILLIAM NICOL. 



233 



I feed a man at Martinmas, 
Wi' arle pennies three ; 

An' a' the faut I fan' wi' him, 
He couldna labor lea. 



The stibble rig is easy plough'd, 

The fallow land is free ; 
But wha wad keep the handless coof, 

That couldna labor lea ? 



Jenny M'Craw, she has ta'en to the heather, 
Say, was it the covenant carried her thither ; 
Jenny M'Craw to the mountain is gane, 
Their leagues and their covenants a' she has ta'en ; 
My head and my heart, now quo' she, are at rest, 
And as for the lave, let the Deil do his best. 



The last braw bridal that I was at, 
'Twas on a Hallowmass day. 

And there was routh o' drink and fun. 
And mickle mirth and play. 

The bells they rang, and the carlins 
sang. 
And the dames danced in the ha' ; 

The bride went to bed wi' the silly 
bridegroom, 

In the midst o' her kimmers a'. 



O Thou, in whom we live and move. 

Who mad'st the sea and shore ; 
Thy goodness constantly we prove, 

And grateful would adore. 
And if it please thee, Pow'r above. 

Still grant us with such store ; 
The friend we trust, the fair we love. 

And we desire no more. 



Lord, we thank an' thee adore. 
For temp'ral gifts we little merit; 

At present we will ask no more, 
Let William Hyslop give the spirit. 



There came a piper out o' Fife, 
I watna what they ca'd him ; 

He play'd our cousin Kate a spring. 
When lient a body bade him. 

And ay the mair he hotch'd an blew, 
The mair that she forbade him. 



The black -headed eagle. 

As keen as a beagle. 
He hunted o'er height andowre howe, 

But fell in a trap 

On the braes o' Gemappe, 
E'en let him come out as he dowe. 



EPITAPH ON WILLIAM NICOL. 

Ye maggots feast on Nicol's brain, 
For few sic feasts ye've gotten; 

And fix your claws in Nicol's heart, 
For de'il a bit o't's rotten. 

ANSWER TO A POETICAL EPISTLE. 



SENT THE AUTHOR BY A TAILOR. 



What ails ye now, ye lousie bitch. 
To thresh my back at sic a pitch ? 
Losh, man! hae mercy wi' your 
natch, 

Your bodkin's bauld, 
I didna suffer lia'f sue much 

Frae Daddie Auld. 



What tho'at timeswhen I growcrouse, 
I gi'e their wames a random pouse. 
Is that enough for you to souse 

Your servant sae ? 
Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the- 
louse 

An' jag-the-flae. 



234 



EXTEMPORE LINES. 



King David o' poetic brief, 
Wroaght 'mang the lasses such mis- 
chief 
As fiU'd his after life wi' grief 

An' bloody rants, 
An' yet he's rank'd amang the chief 

O" lang-syne saunts. 

And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants, 
My wicked rhymes, an' drucken 

rants, 
I'll gie auld cloven Clooty's haunts 

An unco slip yet, 
An' snugly sit amang the saunts. 

At Davie's hip yet. 

But fegs, the Session says I maun 

Gae fa' upo' anither plan, 

Than garren lasses cowp the cran 

Clean heels owre body, 
And sairly thole their mither's ban 

Afore the howdy. 

This leads me on, to tell for sport, 
How I did wi' the Session sort — 
Auld Clinkum at the Inner port 

Cry'd three times, ' ' Robin ! 
Come hither, lad, an' answer for't, 

Ye're blam'd for jobbin'." 

Wr pinch I put a Sunday's face on. 
An' snoov'd awa' before the Session — 
I made an open fair confession, 

I scorn'd to lie ; 
An' syne Mess John, beyond expres- 
sion. 

Fell foul o' me. 



A furnicator-loun he call'd me, 

An' said my fau't f rae bliss ex pell'd 

me; 
I own'd the tale was true he tell'd me, 

"But what the matter ? " 
Quo' I, " I fear unless ye geld me, 
I'll ne'er be better." 

"Geld you!" quo' he, "and what- 
for no ? 
If that your right hand, leg or toe, 
Should ever prove your sp'ritual foe. 

You should remember 
To cut it aff, an' whatfor no 

Your dearest member ? " 

"Na, na," quo' I, "I'm no for that, 
Gelding's nae better than 'tis ca't, 
I'd rather suffer for my faut, 

A hearty flewit. 
As sair owre hip as ye can draw't, 

Tho' I should rue it. 

" Or gin ye like to end the bother, 
To please us a', I've just ae ither. 
When next wi' yon lass I forgather, 

Whate'er betide it, 
I'll frankly gi'e her't a' thegither, 

An' let her guide it." 

But, Sir, this pleas'd them warst ava, 
An' therefore, Tam, when that I saw, 
I said, " Gude night," and cam awa, 

And left the Session ; 
I saw they were resolved a' 

On my oppression. 



EXTEMPORE LINES, 

IN ANSWER TO A CARD FROM AN INTIMATE FRIEND OF BURNS, WISHING HIM 
TO SPEND AN HOUR AT A TAVERN. 

The King's most humble servant I. 

Can scarcely spare a minute ; 
But I'll be wi' ye by an' bye ; 
Or else the Deil's be in it. 



My bottle is my holy pool, 

That heals the wounds o' care an' dool. 

And pleasure is a wanton trout, 

An' ye drink it, ye'll find him out. 



THE HENPECKED HUSBAND. 235 



LINES. 

WRITTEN EXTEMPORE IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK. [mISS KENNEDY, 
SISTER-IN-LAW OF GAVIN HAMILTON.] 

Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live 
To see the miscreants feel the pain they give ; 
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, 
Till slave and despot be but things which were. 



THE HENPECK'D HUSBAND. 

Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life, 
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife ! 
Who has no will but by her high permission; 
Who has not sixpence but in her possession ; 
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell ; 
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell. 
Were such the wife had fallen to my part, 
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart : 
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch, 
I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse bitch. 



EPITAPH ON A HENPECK'D COUNTRY SQUIRE. 

As father Adam first was fool'd, 
A case that's still too common, 

Here lies a man a woman rul'd, 
The Devil rul'd the woman. 



EPIGRAM ON SAID OCCASION. 



O Death, hadst thou but spar'd his 
life 

Whom we, this day, lament ! 
We freely wad exchang'd the wife. 

And a' been weel content. 



Ev'n as he is, cauld in his graff, 

The swap we yet will do't; 
Take thou the carlin's carcase 
aff. 



Thou'se get the saul o' boot. 
ANOTHER. 

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell. 
When depriv'd of her husband she loved so well. 
In respect for the love and affection he'd show'd her, 
She reduc'd him to dust and she drank up the powder. 

But Queen Netherplace, of a diff'rent complexion. 
When call'd on to order the fim'ral direction, 
Would have eat her dead lord on a slender pretence, 
Not to show her respect, but — to save the expense. 



236 



A TOAST. 



VERSES. 

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRON. 



We came na here to view your 
warks 

In hopes to be mair wise, 
But only, lest we gang to hell, 

It may be nae surprise. 



But when we tirl'd at your door, 
Your porter dought na hear us ; 

Sae may, shou'd we to hell's yetts 
come 
Your billy Satan sair us I 



LINES. 

ON BEING ASKED WHY GOD HAD MADE MISS DA VIES SO LITTLE 
AND MRS. * * * SO LARGE. 

Written on a Pane of Glass in the Inn of Moffat. 

Ask why God made the gem so small, 

An' why so huge the granite ? 
Because God meant mankind should set 

That higher value on it. 



EPIGRAM. 

WRITTEN AT INVERARY. 



Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 

I pity much his case. 
Unless he come to wait upon 

The Lord their God, his Grace. 



There's naething here but Highland 
pride, 

And Highland scab and hunger ; 
If Providence has sent me here, 

'Twas surely in his anger. 



A TOAST. 

GIVEN AT A MEETING OF THE DUMFRIES-SHIRE VOLUNTEERS, HELD TO COMMEMORATE 
THE ANNIVERSARY OF RODNEY'S VICTORY, APRIL 12tH, 1782. 

Instead of a Song, boys, I'll give you a Toast,— 
Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost: 
That we lost, did I say ? nay, by heav'n, that we found. 
For their fame it shall last while the world goes round. 
The next in succession, I'll give you the King, ^ 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing! 
And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution, 
As built on the base of the great Revolution ; 
And longer with Politics, not to be cramm'd, 
Be Anarchy curs'd, and Tyranny damn'd ; 
And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial ! 

1 On Burns' arrival at Inverary the castle and inn were filled with visitors to the Duke, 
and the innkeeper was too busy to pay attention to the Poet and ^is fnend The ej»i- 
gram, which was first published in the Glasgow edition, is supposed to have been writ- 
ten on one of the windows, 



TO J. RANKINE. 



237 



LINES. 

SAID TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY BURNS, WHILE ON HIS DEATH-BED, TO JOHN RANKINB, 
AYRSHIRE, AND FORWARDED TO HIM IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE POET'S DECEASE. 

He who of Ranhine sang, lies stiff and dead ; 
And a green grassy hillock hides his head ; 
Alas ! alas ! a devilish change indeed ! 

VERSES ADDRESSED TO J. RANKINE, 

ON HIS WRITING TO THE POET, THAT A GIRL IN THAT PART OF THE CODNTET 
WAS WITH CHILD TO HIM. 



I AM a keeper of the law 

In some sma' points, altho' not a' ; 

Some people tell me gin I fa', 

Ae way or ither, 
The breaking of ae point, tho 'sma'. 

Breaks a' thegither. 



I hae been in for't ance or twice, 
And winna saj" owre far for thrice. 
Yet never met with that sjurprise 

That broke my rest. 
But now a rumor's like to rise, 

A whaup's i' the nest. 



ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OF LORD GALLOWAY. 

What dost thou in that mansion fair ? 

Flit, Galloway, and find 
Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, 

The picture of thy mind ! 

ON THE SAME. 

No Stewart art thou, Galloway, 

The Stewarts all were brave ; 
Besides, the Stewarts were but fools, 

Not one of them a knave. 



ON THE SAME. 



I 



Bright ran thy line, O Galloway, 
Thro' many a far-fam'd sire ! 

So ran the far-fam'd Roman way. 
So ended in a mire ! 



TO THE SAME, 
ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREATENED WITH HIS BESENTMENT. 

Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, 

In quiet let me live ; 
I ask no kindness at thy hand, 

For thou hast none to give. 

* John Stewart, eighth Earl of Galloway, who died in 1796. Bums disliked this noblo 
man, and bis dislike descended in a sliower of brilliant epigi-ams. 



238 



ON A SCHOOLMASTER. 



VERSES TO J. RANKINE. 



Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl, 
Was driving to the tither warl' 
A mixtie,maxtie motley squad. 
And monie a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination, 
And thieves of every rank and sta- 
tion. 
From him that wears the star and 

garter, 
To him that wintles in a halter ; 
Asham'd himself to see the wretches, 
He mutters, glowrin at the bitches. 



"By God I'll not be seen behint them, 
Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present 

them, 
"Without at least, ae honest man, 
To grace this damn*d infernal clan. ' ' 
By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
"Lord God !" quoth he, "I have it 

now. 
There's just the man I want, i' faith," 
And quickly stoppit Rankine's 

breath. 



EXTEMPORANEOUS EFFUSION. 

ON BBING APPOINTED TO THE KXCISH. 

Searching auld wives' barrels, 

Och, hon ! the day ! 
That clarty barm should stain my laurels ; 

But — what'll ye say ? 
These movin' things ca'd wines and weans. 
Wad move the very heart o' stanes. 



ON HEARING THAT THERE WAS FALSEHOOD IN THE 
REV. DR. B 'S VERY LOOKS. 

That there is falsehood in his looks 

I must and will deny ; 
They say their master is a knave — 

And sure they do not lie. 

POVERTY. 

In politics if thou wouldst mix. 

And mean thy fortunes be ; 
Bear this in mind, — be deaf and blind, 

Let great folks hear and see. 



ON A SCHOOLMASTER, 

IN CLEISH PARISH, FIFESHIRE. 

Here lie Willie Michie's banes ; 

O Satan, when ye tak him, 
Gie him the sclioolin' of your weans. 

For clever deils he'll mak theml 



EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION. 



239 



LINES 

•TTXEN AND PRESENTED TO MRS. KEMBLE, ON SEEING HER IN THE CHARACTER 
OF YARICO IN THE DUMFRIES THEATRE. 1794. 



Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief 

Of Moses and his rod ; 
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief 

The rock with tears had low'd. 



LINES. 



I ivruRDER hate by field or flood, 
Tho' glory's name may screen us ; 

In wars at hame I'll spend my blood, 
Life-giving war of Venus. 



The deities that I adore 
Are social Peace and Plenty, 

I'm better pleased to make one more, 
Than be the death of twenty. 



LINES. 



WRITTEN ON A WINDOW, AT THE KING'S ARMS TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 
'Gainst poor Excisemen ? give the cause a hearing ; 
What are your landlords' rent-rolls ? taxing ledgers : 
What premiers, what? even Monarchs' mighty gangers: 
Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise men ? 
What are they, pray, but spiritual Excisemen ? 



LINES 

WRITTEN ON THE WINDOW OF THE GLOBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

The graybeard, Old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures, 

Give me with gay Folly to live : 
I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, 

But Folly has raptures to give. 



EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION. 

Tune—" KilUecrankiey 



LORD ADVOCATE. 

He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, 

He quoted and he hinted, 
Till in a declamation -mist, 

His argument he tint it : 
He gaped for't, he graped for't, 

He fand it was awa, man ; 
But what his common sense came 
short, 

He eked out wi' law, man. 



MR, erskine. 

Collected Harry stood awee, 

Then opeu'd out his arm, man ; 
His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e, 

And ey 'd the gathering storm, man : 
Like wiud-driv'n hail it did assail, 

Or torrents owre a linn, man; 
The Bench sae wise, lift up their 
eyes, 

Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man. 



240 EPITAPH ON A COUNTRY LAIRD. 

LINES, 

WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF MISS BURNS. 

Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing. 

Lovely Burns lias cliarms — confess : 
True it is, she had one failing, 

Had a woman ever less ? 

ON MISS J. SCOTT, OF AYR. 

Oh! had each Scot of ancient times 
Been, Jeanie Scott, as thou art, 
The bravest heart on English ground 
Had yielded like a coward. 

EPIGRAM ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE,i 

THE CELEBRATED ANTIQUARY. 

The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying, 

So whip ! at the summons, old Satan came flying ; 

But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay moaning, 

And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning, 

Astonish'd! confounded! cry'd Satan, "By God, 

I'll want 'im, ere I take such a damnable load." 

EPIGRAM ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION OP 
MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS.2 

O THOU whom Poetry abhors. 
Whom Prose had turned out of doors, 
Heard'st thou yon groan ?— proceed no further, 
'Twas laurel'd Martial calling murther. 

EPITAPH ON A COUNTRY LAIRD, 

NOT QUITE SO WISE AS SOLOMON. 

Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardoness, 

With grateful lifted eyes, 
Who said that not the soul alone. 

But body too, must rise : 
For had he said, "The soul alone 

From death I will deliver," 
Alas, alas! O Cardoness, 

Then thou hadst slept for ever! 

* Captain Grose was extremely corpulent. This epigram was printed in the Scots 
Magazine, June, 1791. . ^^^ ^ 

» Printed in the Glasgow Collection, 1801. In a letter to Clarinda, in 1787, Burns refers 
to this epigram. '' Did I ever repeat to you an epigram I made on a Mr. Elphinstone, 
who has given a translation of Martial, a famous Latin poet? The poetry of Elphm- 
Stone can only equal his prose-notes. I was sitting in a merchant's shop of my ac- 
quaintance, waiting for somebody: he put Elphinstone into my hand, and asked my 
opinion of it; I begged leave to write it on a blank leaf, which I did." 



A BARD S EPITAPH. 



241 



EPITAPH ON A NOISY POLEMIC.i 

Below thir staaes lie Jamie's banes ; 

O Death, it's my opinion, 
Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin' bitch 

Into thy dark dominion! 

EPITAPH ON WEE JOHNNY.2 

Hicjacet ivee Johnny, 

Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know- 
That death has murder'd Johnnie ! 

An' here his body lies fu' low 

For saul he ne'er had ony. 

EPITAPH ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. 

Here souter Hood in Death does sleep ; 

To Hell, if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 

He'll haud it weel thegither. 

EPITAPH FOR ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 

Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honor'd name, 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. 



EPITAPH FOR GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 

The Poor man weeps — here Gavin sleeps, 
Whom canting wretches blam'd : 

But with such as he, where'er he be. 
May I be sav'd or damn'd ! 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 



Is there a whim-inspired fool, 
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for 

rule, 
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to 
snool, 

Let him draw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool. 
And drap a tear. 



Is there a Bard of rustic song. 
Who, noteless, steals the crowds 

among. 
That weekly this area throng, 
O, pass not by ! 
But, with a frater-feeling strong, 
Here, heave a sigh. 



* The epitaph was printed in the Kilmarnock edition. " Jamie was James Humphrey, 
a mason in Manehline, who was wont to hold theological disputations with the Poet. 

* " Wee Johnny " was John Wilson, the printer of the Kilmarnock edition, in which 
edition Burns wickedly inserted the epitaph. Wilson printed, unconscious that he had 
any other interest in the matter than a commercial one. 



242 



EPITAPH ON A WAG. 



Is there a man whose judgment clear, 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career. 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause — and, thro' the starting 
tear, 

Survey this grave. 

The poor Inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn and wise to know, 

And keenly felt the friendly glow, 



And softer flame, 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 
And stain'd his name ! 



-whether thy soul 
flights beyond the 



Reader, attend- 
Soars fancy's 

pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-control 

Is wisdom's root. 



EPITAPH ON MY FATHER. 

O YE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains. 
Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend ! 

Here lie the loving husband's dear remains. 
The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. 

The pitying heart that felt for human woe ; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride, 
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; 

" For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side." 



EPITAPH ON JOHN DOVE, 



INNKEEPER, MAUCHLINE. 



Here lies Johnny Pidgeon ; 

What was his religion ? 

What e'er desires to ken. 

To some other warl' 

Maun follow the carl, 

For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane ! 



Strong ale was ablution, — 
Small beer persecution, 
A dram was memento mori ; 
But a full flowing bowl 
Was the saving his soul, 
And port was celestial glory. 



EPITAPH ON JOHN BUSHBY, 

WRITER, IN DUMFRIES. 

Here lies John Bushby, honest man 1 
Cheat him. Devil, if you can. 



EPITAPH ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE. 



Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', 

He af ten did assist ye ; 
For had ye staid whole weeks awa, 

Your wives they ne'er had miss'd 

ye. 



Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye 
pass 

To school in bands thegither, 
O tread ye lightly on his grass. 

Perhaps he was your father. 



1 Goldsmith. R. B. 



GRACE BEFORE MEAT. 243 



EPITAPH ON A PERSON NICKNAMED "THE MARQUIS," 

WHO DESIRED BURNS TO WRITE ONE ON HIM. 

Here lies a mock Marquis whose titles were shamm'd, 
If ever he rise, it will be to be damu'd. 

EPITAPH ON WALTER R [RIDDEL]. 

Sic a reptile was Wat, 

Sic a miscreant slave. 
That the worms ev'n damn'd him 

When laid in his grave. 
"In his flesh there's a famine," 

A starv'd reptile cries ; 
** An' his heart is rank poison," 

Another replies. 

ON HIMSELF. 

Here comes Bums 

On Rosinante ; 
She's d poor, 

But he's d canty ! 

GRACE BEFORE MEAT. 

O Lord, when hunger pinches sore, 

Do thou stand us in need. 
And send us from thy bounteous store, 

A tup or wether head ! Amen. 

ON COMMISSARY GOLDIE'S BRAINS. 

Lord, to account who dares thee call, 

Or e'er dispute thy pleasure ? 
Else why within so thick a wall 

Enclose so poor a treasure ? 

IMPROMPTU. 

ON AN INNKEEPER NAMED BACON WHO INTRUDED HIMSELF INTO ALL COMPANIES. 

At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer. 
And plenty of bacon each day in the year ; 
We've all things that's nice, and mostly in season, 
But why always Bacon — come, give me a reason ? 

ADDRESSED TO A LADY 

WHOM THE AUTHOR FEARED HE HAD OFFENDED. 



Rusticity's ungainly form 
May cloud the highest mind ; 

But when the heart is nobly warm, 
The good excuse will find. 



Propriety's cold cautious rules 
Warm fervor may o'erlook ; 

But spare poor sensibility 
The ungentle, harsh rebuke. 



244 ON MR. M'MURDO. 



EPIGRAM. 

When , deceased, to the devil went down, 

'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown ; 
"Thy fool's head," quoth Satan, "that crown shall wear never, 
I grant thou'rt as wicked, but not quite so clever." 

LINES INSCRIBED ON A PLATTER. 



My blessing on ye, honest wife, 

I ne'er was here before : 
Ye've wealth o' gear for spoon and 
knife — 

Heart could not wish for more. 



Heaven keep you clear of sturt and 
strife. 

Till far ayont four score, 
And by the Lord o' death and life, 

I ne'er gae by your door I 



TO 



Your billet, sir, I grant receipt ; 

Wi' you I'll canter ony gate, 

Though 'twere a trip to yon blue warl', 
Whare birkies march on burning marl : 
Then, sir, God willing, I'll attend ye, 
And to his goodness I commend ye. 

R. Burns. 



ON MR. M'MURDO.i 

Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day, 
No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray ; 
No wrinkle furrow'd by the hand of care,* 
Nor even sorrow add one silver hair ! 
Oh, may no son the father's honor stain, 
Nor ever daughter give the mother pain. 



TO A LADY 

WHO WAS LOOKING UP THE TEXT DURING SERMON. 

Fair maid, you need not take the hint. 

Nor idle texts pursue : 
'Twas guilty sm?iers that he meant — 

Not angels such as you ! 

IMPROMPTU. 

How daur ye ca' me howlet-faced. 

Ye ugly, glowering spectre ? 
My face was but the keekin' glass, 

An' there ye saw your picture. 

lines were inscribed on a pane of glass in Mr. M'Murdo's house. 



TO A PAINTER. 



245 



TO MR. MACKENZIE, SURGEON, MAUCHLINE. 



Friday first 's tlie day appointed 
By the Right Worshipful 1 anointed, 

To hold your grand procession ; 
To get a blad o' Johnie's morals, 
And taste a swatch o' Manson's bar- 
rels 

I' the way of our profession. 

The Master and the Brotherhood 
Would a' be glad to see you ; 



For me I would be mair than proud 
To share the mercies wi' you. 
If Death, then, wi' skaith, then, 
Some mortal heart is hechtin', 
Inform him, and storm him, 
That Saturday you'll fecht 
him. 

Robert Burns. 

Mossgiel, An. M. 5790. 



TO A PAINTER. 



Dear , I'll gie ye some advice 

You'll tak it no uncivil : 
You shouldna paint at angels mair, 

But try and paint the devil. 



To paint an angel's kittle wark, 
AVi' auld Nick there's less danger; 

You'll easy draw a weel-kent face, 
But no sae weel a stranger. 



LINES WRITTEN ON A TUMBLER.2 



You're welcome, Willie Stewart ; 

You're welcome, Willie Stewart ; 
There's ne'er a flower that blooms in 
May, 

That's half sae welcome's thou art. 

Come, bumpers high, express your 
joy. 
The bowl we maun renew it ; 



The tappit-hen, gae bring her ben, 
To welcome Willie Stewart. 

May foes be Strang, and friends be 
slack, 

Ilk action may he rue it ; 
May woman on him turn her back, 

That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart I 



ON MR. W. CRUIKSHANK 



OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH. 

Honest Will to heaven is gane, 

And mony shall lament him ; 
His faults they a' in Latin lay, 

In English nane e'er kent them. 

1 The Right Worshipful Master, Major-General James Montgomery. On the 24th of 
June (St. John's Day) the masonic club in Mauchline, of which Burns was a member, 
contemplated a procession. Burns sent the rhymed note to Dr. Mackenzie, with whom 
he had lately been discussing the origin of morals. 

^ This tumbler came into the possession of Sir Walter Scott, and is still preserved at 
Abbotsford. " Willie Stewart " was factor of the estate of Closeburu in Dumfi'iesshire. 
He died in 1812, aged 63. 



SONGS. 



THE LAm O' BALLOCHMYLE.i 



Tune—" Miss Forbes' s Farewell to Banff, or Ettrick Banks.'' 



'TwAS even — the dewy fields were 
green, 
On every blade the pearls hang ; 
The Zephyrs wanton'd round the 
bean, 
And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In every glen the Mavis sang, 

All nature listening seem'd the 
while : 
Except where green-wood echoes 
rang, 
Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward straj^'d, 

My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ; 
Her look was like the morning's e5^e, 

Her hair like nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whisper'd passing by, 

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! 

Fair is the morn in flowery May, 
And sweet is night in Autumn 
mild. 

When roving thro' the garden gay. 
Or wandering in a lonely wild : 



But Woman, Nature's darling child! 

There all her charms she does com- 
pile; 
Ev'n there her other works are foil'd 

By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

O, had she been a country maid. 

And I the happy country swain, 
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed 

That ever rose on Scotland's plain! 
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain, 

With joy, with rapture, I would 
toil; 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry 
steep. 
Where fame andhonors lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the 
deep, 
Or downward seek the Indian mine ; 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks or till the soil, 
And every day have joys divine. 
With the bonnie lass o' Balloch- 
myle. 



SONG OF DEATH. 

A GAELIC AIR. 

Scene— J. field of battle. Time of the day— Evening. Tlie toounded and dying of the 
victorious army are supposed to join in the song. 

Fahewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, 

Now gay with the broad setting sun ! 
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear, tender ties, 

Our race of existence is run 1 



1 This song was composed in honor of Miss Wilhelraina Alexander, sister of the Laird 
of Ballochmyle, whom Burns had met in one of his evening Avalks. 
246 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 



247 



Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, 

Go, frighten the coward and slave ! 
Go, teach them to tremble, fell Tyrant ! but know, 

No terrors hast thou for the brave ! 

Thou strik'st the dull peasant — he sinks in the dark, 

Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name : 
Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark ! 

He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 

In the field of proud honor — our swords in our hands, 

Our King and our Country to save — 
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, 

O ! who w^ould not die with the brave ! 



MY AIN KIND DEARIE O. 



When o'er the hill the eastern star 

Tells bughtin-time is near, my 30: 
And owsen frae the furrow'd field 

Return sae dowf and wearie O ; 
Down by the burn, where scented 
birks 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie O. 

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, 
I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie O, 

If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, 
My ain kind dearie O. 



Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild 
And I were ne'er sae wearie O, 

I'd meet thee on the lea-rig. 
My ain kind dearie O. 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouse the mountain deer, my 
jo; 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen, 

Along the burn to steer, my jo; 
Gie me the hour o' gloamin gray, 

It maks my heart sae cheery O 
To meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie O. 



I 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 

There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen. 
He's the king o' gude fellows and wale of auld men; 
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine. 
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. 

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; 
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay ; 
As blythe and as artless as the lamb on the lea. 
And dear to my heart as the light to my ee. 

But oh ! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird. 
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard ; 
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed. 
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. 

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nana ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane : 
I wander my lane, like a night-troubled ghaist, 
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. 



248 



DUNCAN GRAY. 



had she but been of a lower degree, 

1 then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me : 
O how past describing had then been my bliss, 
As now my distraction no words can express ! 



NAEBODY. 

I HAE a wife o' my ain, 

I'll partake wi' naebody ; 
I'll tak cuckold frae nane, 

I'll gie cuckold to naebody. 

I hae a penny to spend, 
There — thanks to naebody ; 

I hae nothing to lend, 
I'll borrow frae naebody. 

I am naebody 's lord, 

I'll be slave to naebody ; 
I hae a guid braid sword, 

I'll tak dunts frae naebody. 

I'll be merry and free, 

I'll be sad for naebody ; 
If naebody care for me, 

I'll care for naebody. 

MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE 
THING. 

She is a winsome wee thing. 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing. 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

I never saw a fairer, 

I never lo'ed a dearer. 

And neist my heart I'll wear her, 

For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing. 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

The warld's wrack, we share o't, 
The warstle and the care o't ; 
Wi' her I'll blythely bear it. 
And think my lot divine. 

DUNCAN GRAY. 

Duncan Gray came here to woo, 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't, 



On blythe yule night when we were 
fou. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Maggie coost her head fu high, 
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd ; 

Ha, ha, etc, 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 

Ha, ha, etc. 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin*, 
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn ; 

Ha, ha, etc. 

Time and chance are but a tide. 

Ha, ha, etc. 
Slighted love is sair to bide. 

Ha, ha, etc. 
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he. 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me ! 

Ha, ha, etc. 

How it comes let doctors tell. 

Ha, ha, etc. 
Meg grew sick — as he grew well, 

Ha, ha, etc. 
Something in her bosom wrings. 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And O, her een, they spak sic things ! 

Ha, ha, etc. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace, 

Ha, ha, etc. 
Maggie's was a piteous case, 

Ha, ha, etc. 
Duncan couldna be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; 
Now they're crouse and cantie baith ! 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

O POORTITH. 

Tune—" I had a horsey 

O POORTITH cauld, and restless love 
Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 



LORD GREGORY. 



249 



Yet poortith a' I could forgive, 
An' 'twerena for my Jeanie. 

O why should fate sic pleasure 
have, 
Life's dearest bands untwin- 
ing? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 
Depend on Fortune's shining ? 

This warld's wealth when I think on, 
It's pride, and a' the lave o't ; 

Fie, fie on silly coward man, 
That he should be the slave o't. 
O why, etc. 

Her een sae bonnie blue betray 
How she repays my passion ; 

But prudence is her o'erword aye. 
She talks of rank and fashion. 
O why, etc. 

O wha can prudence think upon. 

And sic a lassie by hira ? 
O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sae in love as I am ? 
O why, etc. 

How blest the humble cotter's fate ! 

He woos his simple dearie ; 
The silly bogles, wealth and state, 
Can never make them eerie. 
O why should fate sic pleasure 
have, 
Life's dearest bands untwin- 
ing? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 
Depend on Fortune's shining ? 

GALLA WATER. 

There's braw braw lads on Yarrow 

braes. 

That wander thro' the blooming 

heather ; 

But Yarrow braes nor Ettrlck shaws 

Can match the lads o' Galla Water. 

But there is ane, a secret ane, 
Aboon them a' I lo'e him better ; 



And I'll he his, and he'll be mine, 
The bonnie lad o' Galla Water. 

Altho' his daddie was nae laird, 
And tho' I hae nae meikle to cher; 

Yet rich in kindest, truest love. 
We'll tent our flocks by Galla 
Water. 

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was 
wealth 
That coft contentment, peace or 
pleasure ; 
The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 

that's the chiefest warld's treas- 

ure. 

LORD GREGORY. 

O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour. 
And loud the tempests roar ; 

A waef u' wanderer seeks thy tow'r, 
Lord Gregory, ope thy door. 

An exile, frae her father's ha', 

And a' for loving thee ; 
At least some pity on me shaw, 

If love it mayna be. 

Lord Gregory, minds't thou not the 
grove 
By bonnie Irwine side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin-love, 

1 lang, lang had denied ? 

How aften didst thou pledge and 
vow, 

Thou would for aye be mine ! 
And my fond heart, itsel sae true, 

It ne'er mistrusted thine. 

Hard is thy heart. Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thy breast : 
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by 

O wilt thou give me rest ! 

Ye mustering thunders from above, 

Your willing victim see ! 
But spare, and pardon my fause love 

His wrangs to heaven and me ! 



250 



MEG O THE MILL. 



OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH! 

■WITH ALTERATIONS. 

Oh, open the door, some pity to show, 

O, open the door to me, Oh ! 
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, 

Oh, open the door to me, Oh ! 

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 

But caulder thy love for me, Oh ! 
The frost that freezes the life at my heart, 

Is nought to my pains f rae thee, Oh ! 

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, 

And time is setting with me, Oh ! 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 

I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee. Oh ! 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide ; 

She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh ! 
My true love, she cried, and sank down by his side. 

Never to rise again, Oh ! 

MEG O' THE MILL. 

Air—" O, bonnie Lass, ivill you lie in a Barrack.''^ 

O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten, 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller. 
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. 

The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy, 
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady ; 
The Laird was a widdief u', bleerit knurl ; 
She's left the guid fellow and ta'en the churl. 

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving ; 
The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving, 
A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle, 
A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle. 

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ; 
And wae on the love that is fix'd on a mailen! 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle. 
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl ! 



LOGAN BRAES. 25 I 



JESSIE, i 
Tune—" Bonnie Dundee.'''' 

TRUE-hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, 

And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, 
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river. 

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair : 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; 

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ; 
Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover, 

And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 

O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, 

And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie, 

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring ; 

Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law : 
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger! 

Her modest demeanor's the jewel of a'. 

WANDERING WILLIE. 

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
Here awa, there awa, hand awa hame ; 

Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie. 
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. 

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, 
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my ee ; 

Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me ! 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers ; 

How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 
Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows, 

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, 
Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main; 

May I never see it, may I never trow it. 
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain. 

LOGAN BRAES. 

Tune— " Logan Water.''* 



O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 
That day I was my Willie's bride ; 
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run. 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 



But now thy flow'ry banks appear 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan Braes. 



^ The heroine of this song was Miss Tessie Staig. 



2521 



PHILLIS THE FAIR. 



Again the merr}^ month o' May 
Has made our hills and valleys gay ; 
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, 
The bees hum round the breathing 

flowers ; 
Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye, 
And evening's tears are tears of joy: 
My soul, delightless, a' surveys, 
While Willie's far frae Logan Braes. 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn 

bush, 
Amang her nestlings, sits the thrush ; 
Her faithf u' mate will share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile : 
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days. 
While Willie's far frae Logan Braes. 

O wae upon you, men o' state. 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
As ye mak mouie a fond heart mourn, 
Sae may it on 3^our heads return ! 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? 
But soon may peace bring happy 

days. 
And Willie hame to Logan Braes ! 

THERE WAS A LASS.i 
Tune — " Bonnie Jean.'''' 

There was a lass, and she was fair, 
At kirk and market to be seen. 

When a' the fairest maids were met. 
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. 

And aye she wrought her mammie's 
wark, 

And aye she sang sae merrily : 
The blythest bird upon the bush 

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 

But hawks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little lint white's nest ; 

And frost will blight the fairest flow- 
ers, [rest. 
And love will break the soundest 

Young Robie was the brawest lad, 
The flower and pride of a' the glen ; 

And he had owsen, sheep and kye, 
And wanton naigies nine or ten. 

1 Miss Jean M'Murdo of Drumlanrig. 



He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, 
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down ; 

And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 
Her heart was tint, her peace was 
stown. 

As in the bosom o' the stream 
The moon-beam dwells at dewy 
e'en; 

So trembling, pure, was tender love, 
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. 

And now she works her mammie's 
wark, 
And aye she sighs wi' care and 
pain; 
Yet wistna what her ail might be, 
Or what wad make her weel again. 

But didna Jeanie's heart loup light, 
And didna joy blink in her ee, 

As Robie tauld a tale o' love, 
Ae e'enin on the lily lea ? 

The sun was sinking in the west, 
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; 

His cheek to hers he fondly prest, 
And whisper'd thus his tale o' love : 

O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; 

O canst thou think to fancy me? 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, 

And learn to tent the farms wi' me ? 

At barn or byre thou shaltna drudge. 
Or naething else to trouble thee ; 

But stray amang the heather-bells, 
And tent the waving corn wi' me. 

Now what could artless Jeanie do ? 

She had nae will to say him na : 
At length she blush'd a sweet con- 
sent, [twa. 

And love was aye between them 

PHILLIS THE FAIR. 

Tune — " Robin Adair.'''' 

While larks with little wing 

Fann'd the pure air, 
Tasting the breathing spring, 

Forth I did fare : 
Gay the sun's golden eye 
Peep'd o'er the mountains high; 
Such th}^ morn ! did I cry, 

Phillis the fair. 



WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD. 253 



In each bird's careless song 

Glad did I share ; 
While yon wild flowers among, 

Chance led me there : 
Sweet to the opening day, 
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray ; 
Such thy bloom ! did I say, 

Phillis the fair. 

Down in a shady walk, 

Doves cooing were, 
I mark'd the cruel hawk 

Caught in a snare : 
So kind may Fortune be, 
Such make his destiny, 
He who would injure thee, 

Phillis the fair. 

BY ALLAN STREAM. 

Tv^K—'' Allan Water.'"' 

By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove, 
While Phoebus sank beyond Ben- 
leddi; 
The winds were whispering thro' the 
grove, 
The yellow corn was waving ready : 
I listen'd to a lover's sang, 



And thought on youthfu' pleasures 
monie ; 
And aye the wild wood echoes rang — 
O, dearly do I love thee, Annie ! 

O, happy be the woodbine bower, 

Nae nightly bogle mak it eerie ; 
Nor ever sorrow stain the liour, 

The place and time I met my dearie ! 
Her head upon my throbbing breast, 

She, sinking, said ' ' I'm thine for 
ever ! " 
While monie a kiss the seal imprest. 

The sacred vow, we ne'er should 
sever. 

The haunt o' spring's the primrose 
brae, 
The simmer joys the flocks to fol- 
low; 
How cheery thro' her shortening day 
Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow ! 
But can they melt the glowing heart, 
Or chain the soul in speechless 
pleasure. 
Or, thro' each nerve the rapture dart, 
Like meeting her, our bosom's 
treasure. 



HAD I A CAVE. 



T"'NE— " Robin Adair. 



Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore, 
Where the winds howl to the waves dashing roar; 

There would I weep my woes, 

There «eek my lost repose, 

Till grief my eyes should close, 
Ne'er to wake more. 

Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare 
All thy fond plighted vows — fleeting as air ? 

To thy new lover hie, 

Laugh o'er thy perjury, 

Then in thy bosom try. 
What peace is there \ 



WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD. 

Tune— "ilf«/ Jo, Janet.'' 

O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad ; 
O wiiistle, and I'll come to you, my lad : 
Tho' father and mithcr and a' should gae mad, 
whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 



254 



DELUDED SWAIN. 



But warily tent, when ye come to court me, 
And come na unless the black-yett be a-jee; 
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see, 
Ajid come as ye were na comin to me. 
And come, etc. 

O whistle, etc. 

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd ua a flie : 
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black ee, 
Yet look as ye w^ere na lookin at me. 
Yet look, etc. 

O whistle, etc. 

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee; 
But court na anither, tho' jokin ye be. 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
For fear, etc. 

O whistle, etc. 



HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE 

YOUR STRIFE. 

Tune—" My Jo, Janet.'" 

Husband, husband, cease your strife. 
Nor longer idly rave, sir; 

Tho' I am your wedded wife. 
Yet I am not your slave, sir. 

"One of two must still obey. 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Is it man or woman, say, 

My spouse, Nancy ? " 

If 'tis still the lordly word, 

Service and obedience ; 
I'll desert my sov'reign lord. 

And so good-by e allegiance ! 

" Sad will I be, 'jo bereft, 

Nancy, Nancy! 
Yet I'll try to make a shift. 

My spouse, Nancy." 

My poor heart then break it must. 

My last hour I'm near it : 
When you lay me in the dust. 

Think, think how you will bear it. 

"I will hope and trust in Heaven, 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Strength to bear it will be given. 

My spouse, Nancy." 



Well, sir, from the silent dead 
Still I'll try to daunt you ; 

Ever round your midnight bed 
Horrid sprites shall haunt you. 

' ' I'll wed another, like my dear 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Then all hell will fly for fear. 

My spouse, Nancy." 

DELUDED SWAIN. 

Tune—" The CoUier''s Dochter.'''' 

Deluded swain, the pleasure 
The fickle Fair can give thee. 

Is but a fairy treasure. 
Thy hopes will soon deceive thee 

The billows on the ocean 
The breezes idly roaming. 

The clouds' uncertain motion, 
They are but types of woman. 

O ! art thou not ashamed 

To doat upon a feature? 
If man thou wouldst be named. 

Despise the silly creature. 

Go, find an honest fellow : 
Good claret set before thee : 

Hold on till thou art mellow, 
And then to bed in glory. 



ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. 



255 



SONG. 

Tune—" TJie Quaker's Wife:' 
Thene am I, my faithful fair, 

Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 
Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 

Ev'ry roving fancy. 

To thy bosom lay my heart, 
There to throb and languish: 

Tho' despair had wrung its core 
That would heal its anguish. 

Take away those rosy lips, 
Rich with balmy treasure ! 

Turn away thine eyes of love. 
Lest I die with pleasure ! 

What is life when wanting love? 

Night without a morning ! 
Love's the cloudless summer sun, 

Nature gay adorning. 

WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE ? 

A NEW SCOTS SONG. 

Tune—" The Sutor's Dochter:' 

Wilt thou be my dearie? 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart 

Wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 

By the treasure of my soul, 

That's the love I bear thee ! 

I swear and vow that only thou 

Shalt ever be my dearie — 

Only thou, I swear and vow, 

Shalt ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 
Or if thou wilt na be my ain. 
Say na thou'lt refuse me : 
If it winna, canna be, 
Thou for thine may choose me. 
Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me — 
Lassie, let me quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 

BANKS OF CREE. 

Tune—" The Flowers of Edinburgh:'' 

Here is the glen, and here the 
bower, 

All underneath the birchen shade ; 
The village-bell has toll'd the hour, 

O what can stay my lovely maid ? 



'Tis not Maria's whispering call ; 

'Tis but the balmy breathing gale, 
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall^ 

The dewy star of eve to hail. 

It is Maria's voice I hear ! 

So calls the woodlark in the grovp 
His little faithful mate to cheer, 

At once 'tis music— and 'tis love. 

And art thou come? and art thov 
true? 

O welcome, dear, to love and me ! 
And let us all our vows renew. 

Along the flow'ry banks of Cree. 

ON THE SEAS AND FAR 
AWAY'. 

Tune—" O'er the Hills and far Away:' 

How can my poor heart be glad, 
When absent from my Sailor lad ? 
How can I the thought forego, 
He's on the seas to meet the foe ? 
Let me wander, let me rove, 
Still my heart is with -my love; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are with him that's far away. 

CHORUS. 

On the seas and far away. 
On stormy seas and far away ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by 

day 
Are aye with him that's far away. 

When in summer's noon I faint. 
As weary flocks around me pant, 
Haply in this scorching sun 
My Sailor's thund'ring at his gun: 
Bullets, spare my only joy! 
Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 
Fate, do with me what you may. 
Spare but him that's far away ! 
On the seas, etc. 

At the starless midnight hour, 
When winter rules with boundless 

power ; 
As the storms the forest tear. 
And thunders rend the howling air, 
Listening to the doubling roar, 
Surging on the rocky shore, 



256 



SHE SAYS SHE LO'eS ME BEST OF a' 



All I can — I weep and pray, 
For his weal that's far away. 
On the seas, etc. 

Peace, thy olive wrnd extend, 
And bid wild War his ravage end, 
Man with brother man to meet. 
And as a brother kindly greet : 
Then may heaven with prosperous 

gales 
Fill my Sailor's welcome sails, 
To my arms their charge convey. 
My dear lad that's far away. 
On the seas, etc. 

HARK! THE MAVIS. 

TuNE-^" Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes.'" 
CHORUS. 

Ca' the yow^es to the knowes, 
Ca' them where the heather grows, 
Ca' them where the burnie row^s. 
My bonnie dearie. 

Hark ! the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clouden's woods amang. 
Then a faulding let us gang, 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, etc. 

We'll gae down by Clouden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 
O'er the waves that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 
Ca' the, etc. 

Yonder Clouden's silent towers, 
Where at moonshine midnight hours. 
O'er the dewy-bending flowers. 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca' the, etc. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
Thou'rt to love and Heaven sae dear, 
Noclit of ill may come thee near. 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, etc. 

Fair and lovely as thou art. 
Thou hast stown my very heart : 
I can die — but canna part, 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, etc. 



While waters wimple to the sea ; 
While day blinks in the lift sae hie ; 
Till clay-cauld death sliall blin' my ee, 
Ye shall be my dearie. 
Ca' the, etc. 



SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME 
BEST OF A'. 

Tune — " Onagh''s Water-fall.'''' 

Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o'erarching 

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. 
Her smiling, sae wyling, 

Wad make a wretch forget his woe ; 
What pleasure, what treasure. 

Unto these rosy lips to grow ! 
Such was my Chloris' bonnie face, 

When first her bonnie face I saw, 
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, 

She says she lo'es me best of a'. 

Like harmony her motion ; 

Her pretty ankle is a spy 
Betraying fair proportion, 

Wad make a saint forget the sky ; 
Sae warming, sae charming. 

Her faultless form and gracef u' air ; 
Ilk feature — auld Nature 

Declar'd that she could do nae 
mair: 
Hers are the willing chains o' love. 

By conquering beauty's sovereign 
law; 
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm. 

She says she lo'es me best of a'. 

Let others love the city, 

And gaudy show at sunny noon ; 
Gie me the lonely vallej'-, 

The dewy eve, and rising moon 
Fair beaming, and streaming 

Her silver light the boughs amang ; 
While falling, recalling. 

The amorous thrush concludes his 
sang: 
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou 
rove 

By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, 
And hear my vows o' truth and love. 

And say thou lo'es me best of a' ? 



LASSIE Wl' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS. 



257 



HOW LANG AND DREARY. 

Tune—" Cauld Kail in Aberdeen." 

How laug and dreary is the night, 
When I am frae my dearie ; 

I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 
Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. 

CHORUS. 

For oh, her lanely nights are lang ; 

And oh, her dreams are eerie ; 
And oh, her widow'd heart is sair, 

That's absent frae her dearie. 

When I think on the lightsome days 
I spent wi' thee, my dearie, 

And now that seas between us roar. 
How can I be but eerie ! 
For oh, etc. 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ; 

The joyless day how drearie! 
It wasna sae 3'e glinted by, 

When I was wi' my dearie. 
For oh, etc. 

THE LOVER'S MORNING 
SALUTE TO HIS MISTRESS.i 

Tune—" Deil takthe TFars." 

SLEEP'sTthou, or wak'st thou, fairest 
creature ? 
Rosy morn now lifts his eye, 

Numbering ilka bud which Nature 
Waters wi' the tears o' joy : 
Now thro' the leafy woods. 

And by the reeking floods, 

Wild Nature's tenants freely, gladly 
stray : 
The lintwhite in his bower 
Chants o'er the breathing flower ; 
The lav'rock to the sky 
Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, 
While the sun and thou arise to bless 
the day. 

Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning, 
Banishes ilk darksome shade, 

Nature gladdening and adorning ; 
Such to me my lovely maid. 

* The heroine of this song was Miss Lori- 
mer, of Craigieburn. 

17 



When absent frae my fidr, 
Tlie murky shades o' care 

Witii starless gloom o'ercast my sul- 
len sky : 
But when, in beauty's light. 
She meets my ravish'd sight, 
When thro' my very heart 
Her beaming glories dart — 

Tis then I wake to life, to light, and 

joy- 

LASSIE Wr THE LINT- 
WHITE LOCKS.i 

Tune—" Rothiemurchus^ s Rant.'''' 
CHORUS. 

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, 

Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks ? 
Wilt thou be my dearie O ? 

Now nature deeds the flowery lea, 
And a' is young and sweet like thee; 
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, 
And say thou'll be my dearie O ? 
Lassie wi', etc. 

And when the welcome simmer- 
shower 
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, 
We'll to the breathing woodbine 
bower 
At sultry noon, my dearie O. 
Lassie wi', etc. 

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray. 
The wear}^ shearer's hameward way. 
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, 
And talk o' love, my dearie O. 
Lassie wi', etc. 

And when the howling wintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest ; 
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie O. 
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, 

Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks ? 

Wilt thou be my dearie O ? 

1 In sending this song to Mr. Thomson, 
November, 1704, Burns says : — " This piece 
has at least the merit of' beintr a resrnlar 
pastoral ; the vernal morn, the summer 
noon, the autumnal evening?, and the win- 
ter night, are regularly rounded." 



258 



CONTENTED WI LITTLE. 



THE AULD MAN.i 
Tune—" The Death of the Linnet.'''' 

But lately seen in gladsome green 

The woods rejoic'd the day, 
Thro' gentle showers the laughing 
flowers 

In double pride were gay : 
But now our joys are fled, 

On winter blasts awa ! 
Yet maiden May, in rich array, 

Again shall bring them a' . 

But my white pow, nae kindly tliowe 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
My trunk of eild, but buss or bield, 

Sinks in time's wintry rage. 
Oh, age has weary days, 

And nights o' sleepless pain ! 
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, 

Why com'st thou not again ? 

FAREWELL, THOU STREAM.2 

Tune— " iVancT/'s to the Greemvood ganey 

Farewell, thou stream that winding 
flows 
Around Eliza's dwelling ! 



Mem'ry ! spare the cruel throes 
Within my bosom swelling: 

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 
And yet in secret languish. 

To feel a fire in ev'ry vein. 
Nor dare disclose my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, un- 
known, 
I fain my griefs would cover: 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting 
groan. 
Betray the hapless lover. 

1 know thou doom'st me to despair, 
Nor wilt nor canst relieve me ; 

But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer, 
For pity's sake forgive me ! 

The music of thy voice I heard, 

Nor wist while it enslav'd me ; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing 
fear'd, 

Till fears no more had sav'd me : 
Th' unwary sailor thus aghast. 

The wheeling torrent viewing, 
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



CONTENTED WI' LITTLE.^ 

Tune — '■'■Lumps o' pudding.''^ 

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, 
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
I gie them a skelp as they're creepin' alang, 
Wi' a cog o' gude swats, and an auld Scottish 



I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 

But man is a soger, and life is a faught : 

My mirth and gude humor are coin in my pouch, 

And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. 



t With reference to this song Burns wrote Mr. Thomson, 19th October, 1794 :— " I en- 
close you a musical curiosity, an East Indian air, which you would swear was a Scot- 
tish one. I know the authenticity of it, as the gentleman who brought it over is a 
particular acquaintance of mine. . . . Here follow the verses I intend for it." 

2 Burns sent the first draft of this song to Mr. Thomson in April, 1793. It was then 
addressed to Maria (supposed to be Mrs. Riddel). When he sent the version in the text 
to Mr. Thomson in November, 1794, he had made some inconsiderable alterations, and 
substituted Eliza for Maria. 

5 Burns wrote to Mr. Thomson, November, 1794 :—" Scottish bacchanalians we cer- 
tainly want, though the few we have are excellent. . . . Apropos to bacchanalian 
songs in Scottish, I composed one yesterday for an air I like much. Lumps o' Pudding.'''' 
Burns tells Mr. Thomson in a passage suppressed by Currie, that he intended this song 
as a picture of his own mind. 



O LASSIE, ART TIIOU SLEEPING YET ? 



259 



A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
A night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a' ; 
When at the blythe end of our journey at last, 
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past ? 

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way, 
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jad gae : 
Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure or pain. 
My warst word is — " Welcome, and welcome again! '' 



MY NANNIE'S AWA.i 

Tune—" There'll never he peace till Jamie come shame.''^ 

Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays, 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw ; 
But to me it's delightless — my Nannie's awa. 

The snaw-drop and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn : 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind me o' Nannie — my Nannie's awa. 

Thou laverock that springs frae the dews o' the lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn. 
And thou, yellow mavis, that hails the night-fa', 
Gie over for pity — my Nannie's awa. 

Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray, 
And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay ; 
The dark, dreary winter, and wild driving snaw, 
Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa. 



SWEET FA'S THE EVE.2 
Tune — '■'■ Craigiehurn-wood.'''' 

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, 
And blythe awakes the morrow. 

But a' the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nocht but sorrow. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
I hear the wild birds singing ; 

But what a weary wight can please, 
And care his bosom wringing? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart. 
Yet dare na for 5'our anger ; 

But secret love will break my heart. 
If I conceal it langer. 



If thou refuse to pity me. 
If thou shalt love anither. 

When yon green leaves fa' frae the 
tree. 
Around my grave they'll wither, 

O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEP- 
ING YET ? 

Tune—" Let me in this ae night.'''' 

O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? 
Or art thou wakin, I would wit ? 
For love has bound me hand and 
foot. 
And I would fain be in, jo. 



1 Clarinda was the heroine of this sonp:. 

* The heroine of this song was Miss Lorimer, of Craigieburn. 



26o 



SONG. 



CHORUS. 

O let me in this ae night, 
This ae, ae, ae night ; 

For pity's sake this ae night, 
O rise and let me in, jo. 

Thou hear'st the winter wind and 

weet, 
Nay star blinks thro' the driving 

sleet ; 
Tak pity on my weary feet, 
And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
O let me in, etc. 



The bitter blast, that round me blaws. 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ; 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 
O let me in, etc. 

HER ANSWER. 

O TELL na me o' wind and rain, 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain ! 
Gae back the gate ye cam again, 
I winna let you in, jo. 



CHORUS. 

I tell you now this ae night, 
This ae, ae, ae night ; 

And ance for a' this ae night, 
I winna let you in, jo. 

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, 
That round the pathless wand'rer 

pours. 
Is nocht to what poor she endures. 
That's trusted faithless man, jo. 
I tell you now, etc. 

The sweetest flower that deck'd the 

mead, 
Now trodden like the vilest weed ; 
Let simple maid the lesson read. 
The weird may be her ain, jo. 
I tell you now, etc. 

The bird that charm'd his summer 

day 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; 
Let witless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo. 
I tell you now, etc. 



SONG.i 
Tune—" Humors of Glen.'''' 

Their groves o' sweet myrtles let foreign lands reckon, 
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume ; 

Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, 
Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. 

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers. 
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen : 

For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 
A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, 

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ; 
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace 

What are they ? The haunt of the tyrant and slave ! 

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains. 

The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; 
He wanders as free as the winds of the mountains, 

Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean. 

1 In May, 1795, Burns wrote to Mr. Thomson :— " The Irish air, Humors of Glen, is a 
great favorite of mine, and as, except the silly stuff in the Poor Soldier, there are not 
any decent verses for it, I have written for it as follows." 



MARK YONDER POMP. 



261 



'TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE EE. 

Tune.—" Laddie^ lie near me." 

'Twas na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin : 
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing ; 
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance 0' kindness. 

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ; 
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, 
Queen shall she be in my bosom forever. 

Chloris, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, 
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest! 
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, 
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. 



ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK. 

Tune.—" WliereHl bonnie Ann lie.'''' 

O STAY, sweet warbling woodlark, 

stay, 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray, 
A hapless lover courts thy lay. 
Thy soothing fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part, 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that wad touch her heart, 
Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 

Say, was thy little mate unkind, 
And heard thee as the careless wind ? 
O, nocht but love and sorrow join'd 
Sic notes o' wae could wauken. 

Thou tells o' never-ending care ; 
O' speechless grief, and dark despair ; 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, naemair! 
Or my poor heart is broken? 

HOW CRUEL ARE THE 
PARENTS. 

Tune— "Jb/wi Anderson my Jo.'''' 

How cruel are the parents 

Who riches only price, 
And to the wealthy booby 

Poor woman sacrifice. 



Meanwhile the hapless daughter 
Has but a choice of strife ; 

To shun a tyrant father's hate, 
Become a wretched wife. 

The ravening hawk pursuing, 

The trembling dove thus flies, 
To shun impelling ruin 

A while her pinions tries; 
Till of escape despairing. 

No shelter or retreat, 
She trusts the ruthless falconer, 

And drops beneath his feet. 



MARK YONDER POI^IP. 

Tune—" Deil tak the Wars.'" 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fash- 
ion, 
Round the wealthy, titled bride : 
But when compar'd with real pas- 
sion, 
Poor is all that princely pride. 
What are their showy treasures ? 
What are their noisy pleasures ? 
The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and 
art : 
The polish'd jewel's blaze 
May draw the woud'ring gaze. 
And courtly grandeur bright 
The fancy may delight, 



262 



FORLORN MY LOVE. 



But never, never can come near the 
heart. 
But did you see my dearest Chloris, 
In simplicity's array ; 
Lovely as yonder sweet opening 
flower is, 
Shrinking from the gaze of day. 
O then, the heart alarming. 
And all resistless charming, 
In love's delightful fetters she chains 
the willing soul ! 
Ambition would disown 
The world's imperial crown ; 
Even Avarice would deny 
His worshipp'd deity, 
And feel thro' every vein Love's rap- 
turous roll. 

I SEE A FORM, I SEE A FACE. 

Tune—" This is no my ain house.'''' 

O THIS is no my ain lassie, 

Fair tho' the lassie be ; 
O weel ken I my ain lassie, 

Kind love is in her ee. 

I see a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : 
It wants, to me, the witching 
grace, 
The kind love that's in her ee. 
O this is no, etc. 

She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and 

tall. 
And lang has had my heart in 

thrall ; 
And aye it charms my very saul. 
The kind love that's in her ee. 
O this is no, etc. 

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a blink, by a' unseen. 
But gleg as light are lovers' een, 
When kind love is in the ee. 
O this is no, etc. 

It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learned clerks ; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that's in her ee. 
O this is no, etc. 



O BONNIE WAS YON ROSY 
BRIER. 

Tune— " 7 WisZi my love was in a mire.'''' 

O BONNIE was yon rosy brier, 
That blooms sae fair frae haunt o' 
man; 

And bonnie she, and ah, how dear ! 
It shaded frae the e'enin sun. 

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew. 
How pure amang the leaves sae 
green ; 
But purer was the lover's vow 
They witness'd in their shade yes- 
treen. 

All in its rude and prickly bower. 
That crimson rose, how sweet and 
fair! 

But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild, and wimpling 
burn, 

Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 
And I, the world, nor wish, nor scorn, 

Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



FORLORN, MY LOVE. 

Tune — " Let me in this ae night.'''' 

Forlorn, my love, no comfort 

near. 
Far, far from thee, I wander here ; 
Far. far from thee, the fate severe 
At which I most repine, love. 



CHORUS. 

O wert thou, love, but near me, 

But near, near, near me ; 

How kindly thou wouldst , cheer 

me. 
And mingle sighs with mine, 

love. 

Around me scowls a wintry sky. 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy; 
And shelter, shade, nor home have I 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 
O wert, etc. 



LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. 



26' 



Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, 

To poison fortune's ruthless dart — 

Let me not break thy faithful heart, 

And say that fate is mine, love. 

O wert, etc. 



But dreary tho' the moments fleet, 
O let me think we yet shall meet ! 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can on thy Chloris shine, love. 
O wert, etc. 



LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. 

Tune—" Lothian Lassie^ 

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, 

And sair wi' his love he did deave me : 
I said there was naething I hated li?ie men. 

The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me, 

The deuce gae wi'm to believe me. 

He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een, 

And vow'd for my love he was dying ; 
I said he might die when he liked for Jean 

The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying, 

The Lord forgie me for lying ! 

A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird, 
And marriage aff -hand, were his proffers : 

I never loot on that I kend it, or car'd ; 
But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers. 
But thought I might hae waur offers. 

But what wad ye think ! in a fortnight or less, 

The deil tak his taste to gae near her ! 
He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could bear her. 

Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her. 

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, 

I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, 
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there. 

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, 

Lest neebors might say I was saucy ; 
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink. 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie. 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 



I spier'd for my cousin f u' couthy and sweet. 
Gin she had recover'd her hearin, 

And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet — 
But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin, a swearin. 
But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin. 



264 ALTHO' THOU MAUN NEVER BE MINE. 



He begged, for Gudesake ! I wad be his wife, 
Or else I wad kill him Avi' sorrow: 

So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 
I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, 
I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 



HEY FOR A LASS WF A TOCHER. 

Tune— " ^aZmamowa ova.'''' 

AwA wi" your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms: 
O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 



Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher ; then hey, for a lass 

wi' a tocher. 
Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher ; the nice yellow 

guineas for me. 

Your beauty's a flower in the morning that blows, 
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowes, 
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white yowes. 
Then hey, etc. 

And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, 
The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest ; 
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, 
The langer ye hae them — the mair they're caresst. 
Then hey, etc. 

ALTHO' THOU MAUN NEVER BE MINE.» 

Tune— " Ifej-e's health to them thafs awa, Hiney.'''' 
CHORUS. 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear. 
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; 
Thou art as sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet. 
And soft as their parting tear — Jessy ! 

Altho' thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied ; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 

Than aught in the world beside — Jessy ! 
Here's a health, etc. 

1 About May 17, 1796, Burns wrote to Mr. Thomson :— " I once mentioned to you an 
air which I have long admired. Here's a health to them that's awa, hiney, but I forget 
if you took any notice of it. I have just been trying to suit it with verses, and I beg 
leave to recommend the air to your attention once more. I have only begun it." 
Jessie, the heroine of the song, was Miss Jessie Lawars, who acted as nurse during the 
poet's illness. 



STAY. MY CHARMER. 



26: 



I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day, 
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms: 

But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, 
For then I am lockt in thy arms — Jessy ! 
Here's a health, etc. 

I guess by the dear angel smile, 
I guess by the love-rolling ee ; 

But why urge the tender confession 
'Gainst fortune's cruel decree — Jessy ! 
Here's a health, etc. 



THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.i 

CHORUS. 

Bonnie lassie, will ye go, will ye go, 

will ye go, 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go to the 

Birks of Aberfeldy ? 

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays, 
Come let us spend the lightsome days 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, etc. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing. 

The little birdies blithely sing, 

Or lightly flit on wanton wing 

In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonnie lassie, etc. 

The braes ascend life lofty wa's, 
The foaming stream deep roaring 

fa's, 
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading 
shaws. 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, etc. 

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' 

flowers. 
White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
And rising, weets wi' misty showers 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, etc. 

Let fortune's gifts at random flee, 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me. 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee. 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, etc. 

1 Burns composed this song: while standing under the falls of Aberfeldy, near Moness, 
in Perthshire, September, 1787. 



THE YOUNG HIGHLAND 
ROVER. 

Tune—" Morag.'''' 

Loud blaw the frosty breezes, 
The snaws the mountains cover; 

Like winter on me seizes. 

Since my young Highland Rover 
Far wanders nations over. 

Where'er he go, where'er he stray, 
May Heaven be his warden : 

Return him safe to fair Strathspey, 
And bonnie Castle-Gordon ! 

The trees now naked groaning. 
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging, 

The birdies dowie moaning, 
Shall a' be blithely singing. 
And every flower be springing, 

Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day, 
When by his mighty warden 

My youth's return'd to fair Strath- 
spey, 
And bonnie Castle-Gordon. 

STAY, MY CHARMER. 

Tune—" An gille dubh ciar dhubh.'''' 

Stay, my charmer, can you leave me? 
Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! 
Well you know how much you grieve 
me; 

Cruel charmer, can you go? 

Cruel charmer, can you go? 

By my love so ill requited ; 

By the faith you fondly plighted ; 

By the pangs of lovers slighted ; 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 



266 



MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN. 



FULL WELL THOU KNOW'ST.^ 

Tune — " Bothiemurchus's rant." 
CHOKUS. 

Fairest maid on Devon banks, 
Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 

Wilt thou lay that frown aside, 
And smile as thou wert wont to 
do? 

Full well thou know'st I love thee 

dear, 
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear ? 
O did not love exclaim, " Forbear, 
Nor use a faithful lover so ? " 
Fairest maid, etc. 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair. 
Those wonted smiles, O, let me share ; 
And by thy beauteous self I swear. 
No love but thine my heart shall 
know. 
Fairest maid, etc. 



STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT.2 

Thickest night, o'erhang my dwell- 
ing ! 

Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! 
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling. 

Still surround my lonely cave ! 

Crystal streamlets gently flowing, 
Busy haunts of base mankind, 

Western breezes softly blowing. 
Suit not my distracted mind. 

In the cause of right engag'd. 
Wrongs injurious to redress. 

Honor's war we strongly wag'd. 
But the heavens deny'd success. 

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us. 
Not a hope that dare attend ; 

The wide world is all before us— 
But a world without a friend' 



1 This was the last song composed by 
Burns. It was written at Brow, on the 
Solway Frith, a few days before his death. 

2 William, fourth viscount of Strath- 
allan, fell at the battle of Culloden, while 
serving on the side of the rebels. 



RAVING WINDS AROUND HEE 
BLOWING. 1 

Tune- "ilf'Gregor of Ruara's lament.'''' 

Raving winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves the woodlands strow- 

ing, 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stray'd deploring : 
"Farewell, hours that late didmeas 

ure 
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure; 
Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow, 
Cheerless night that knows no mor- 
row! 
" O'er the past too fondly wandering. 
On the hopeless future pondering ; 
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, 
Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
Load to misery most distressing, 
O, how gladly I'd resign thee. 
And to dark oblivion join thee! " 

MUSING ON THE ROARING 
0CEAN.2 

Tune— "I)rwimion dttfe/i." 
Musing on the roaring ocean 

Which divides my love and me ; 
Wearying Heaven in warm devotion 

For his weal where'er he be. 

Hope and fear's alternate billow 
Yielding late to nature's law ; 

Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow 
Talk of him that's far aw^a. 

Ye whom sorrow never wounded, 

Ye who never shed a tear, 
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded, 

Gaudy day to you is dear. 

Gentle night, do thou befriend me ; 

Downy sleep, the curtain draw ; 
Spirits kind, again attend me. 

Talk of him that's far awa ! 

^ " I composed these verses on Miss 
Isabella M'Leod of Raasay, alluding to 
her feelings on the death of her sister, and 
the still more melancholy death of her 
sister's husband, the late Earl of Loudon, 
who shot himself out of sheer heart-break, 
at some mortifications he suffered, owing 
to the deranged state of his finances."— B. 

2 "I composed these verses out of com- | 
pliment to a Mrs. Maclachlan, whose hus- 
band is an ofiQcer in the East Indies."— B. 



THE LAZY MIST. 



267 



BLITHE WAS SHE.' 

Tune—" Andi-o and his cuttie gun.'" 
CHORUS. 

Blithe, blithe and merry was she, 
Blithe was she but and ben : 

Blithe by the banks of Ern, 
And blithe in Glenturit glen. 

By Ochtertyre grows the aik, 

On Yarrow banks, the birken shaw ; 

But Phemie was a bonnier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
Blithe, etc. 

Her looks were like a flower in May, 
Her smile was like a summer morn ; 

She tripped by the banks of Ern 
As light's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blithe, etc. 

Her bonnie face it was as meek 
As onie lamb's upon a lee ; 

The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet 
As was the blink o' Phemie's ee. 
Blithe, etc. 

The Highland hills I've wander'd 
wide. 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ; 



But Phemie was the blithest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 
Blithe, etc. 



PEGGY'S CHARMS.2 



Tune. 



Neil Goio^s lamentation for 
Abercairny.'''' 



Where, braving angry winter's 
storms, 

The lofty Ochils rise. 
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes. 
As one who, by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys. 
Astonish 'd doubly, marks its beam 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade. 

And blest the day and hour, 
Where Peggy's charms I first sur- 
vey'd 

When first I felt their pow'r! 
The tyrant death with grim con- 
trol 

May seize my fleeting breath : 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



THE LAZY MIST. 

Irish Air—" Coolun.'''' 

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill. 

Concealing the course of the dark-winding rill ; 

How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear. 

As autumn to winter resigns the pale 3'ear! 

The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, 

And all the gay foppery of summer is flown : 

Apart let mc wander, apart let me muse. 

How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues ; 

How long I have lived, but how much lived in vain 

How little of life's scanty span may remain : 

What aspects, old Time, in his progress, has worn; 

What ties, cruel fate in my bosom has torn. 

How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd ! 

And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how pain'd! 

This life's not worth having with all it can give. 

For something beyond it poor man sure must ve. 

» The heroine of this song was Miss Euphemia Murray, of Lintrose, who was an in 
mate of Ochtertyre House, when Burns was there on a visit. 
' The heroine of this song was Miss Margaret Chahners, 



268 



I LOVE MY JEAN. 



A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY 
WALK.i 

Tune—" The Shepherd's Wife.''' 

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 
All on a dewy morning. 

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, 
In a' its crimson glory spread, 
And drooping rich the dewy head. 
It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 
Sae early in the morning. 

She soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves be- 
dew'd. 
Awake the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, 
On trembling string or vocal air. 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
That tents thy early morning. 

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and 

gay, 

Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day. 
And bless the parent's evening ray 
That watch'd thy early morning. 

TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. 2 

Tune — '■'• Invercauld's reel.''' 
CHORUS. 

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day. 
Ye would na been sae shy ; 

For laik o' gear ye lightly me. 
But, trowth, I care na by. 

1 This song was written in celebration 
of Miss Jeanie Cruikshank, daughter of 
Mr. Cruikshank, of the High School, Edin- 
burgh. 

2 This song was composed by Burns when 
he was about seventeen years of age. The 
subject was a girl in his neighborhood 
named Isabella Steven, or Stein. Accord- 
ing to Allan Cunningham, " Tibbie was 
the daughter of a pensioner of Kyle— a 
jjj^n with three ^cres of peat njoss— ai) 



Yestreen I met you on the moor, 
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stourSi 
Ye geek at me because I'm poor, 
But fient a hair care I. 
O Tibbie, I hae, etc. 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink. 
That ye can please me at a wink, 
Whene'er ye like to try. 
O Tibbie, I hae, etc. 

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 
Wlia follows ony saucy quean 
That looks sae proud and high. 
O Tibbie, I hae, etc. 

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye'll cast your head anither airt, 
And answer him fu' dry. 
O Tibbie, I hae, etc. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Yell fasten to him like a brier, 
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear. 
Be better than the kye. 
O Tibbie, I hae, etc. 

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice. 
Your daddy's gear maks you sae nice ; 
The deil a ane wad spier your price, 
Were ye as poor as I. 
O Tibbie, I hae, etc. 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I would na gie her in her sark. 
For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark ; 
Ye need na look sae high. 
O Tibbie, I hae, etc. 

I LOVE MY JEAN.i 

Tune — '■'■ Miss Admiral Gordon's Slrath- 
spey." 

Op a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west. 
For there the bonnie lassie lives. 

The lassie I lo'e best : 

inheritance which she thought entitled 
her to treat a landless wooer with dis- 
dain." 

1 " This song," Burns writes in a note, 
" I composed out of compliment to Mrs. 
Burns," 



THE BRAES O BALLOCHMYLE. 



169 



There wild woods grow, and rivers 
row 

And monie a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair : 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonnie flower that 
springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green ; 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings, 

But minds me o' my Jean. 

O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' 
HILL!i 

Tune— " ilfy Love is lost to ?ne." 

O, WERE I on Parnassus' hill ! 
Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
That I might catch poetic skill, 

To sing how dear I love thee. 
But Nith maun be my Muse's well, 
My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel ; 
On Corsincon I'll glowr and spell. 

And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my 

lay! 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, 
I could na sing, I could na say. 

How much, how dear, I love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green. 
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae 

clean. 
Thy tempting looks, thy roguish 

een — 
By Heaven and earth I love thee ! 

By night, by day, a-field, at hame. 
The thoughts o' thee my breast in- 
flame ; 
And aye I muse and sing thy name — 

I only live to love thee. 
Tho' I were doomed to wander on, 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun. 
Till my last weary sand was run ; 

Till then — and then I'd love thee. 

1 This song was also composed out of 
compliment to Mrs. Burns. Corsincon is 
a hill at the head of Nithsdale, beyond 
which Mrs. Burns lived before the Poet 
brought her home to ElUsland. 



THE BLISSFUL DAY.^ 
Tune—'' Seventh of November.'''' 

The day returns, my bosom burns, 

The blissful day we twa did meet; 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, 
Ne'er summer-sun was half sae 
sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 

And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, than crowns and 
globes, 
Heaven gave me more, it made 
thee mine. 

While day and night can bring de- 
light, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give ; 
While joys above my mind can move. 

For thee, and thee alone, I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part ; 
The iron hand that breaks our band, 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my 
heart. 

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 2 

Tune—" Miss Forbes''s fareioell to Banff.''' 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen. 

The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee, 
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green. 

But nature sicken'd on the ee. 
Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the wliyle, 
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, 

Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers. 
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair; 
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bow- 
ers. 
Again ye'll charm the vocal air. 
But here, alas ! for me nae mair 
Shall birdie charm, or floweret 
smile ; 

1 With regard to this song Burns.writes— 
" I composed it out of compliment to one 
of the happiest and worthiest married 
couples in the world, Robert Riddel, of 
Glenriddel, and his lady." 

2 " Composed on the amiable and ex- 
cellent family of Whitefoord leaving Bal- 
lochmyle. when Sir John's misfortunes 
obliged him to sell the estate."— B. 



270 



JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. 



Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, 
Fareweel, fareweel, sweet Balloch- 
myle. 

THE HAPPY TRIO.^ 

Tune—" Willie hreiv^d a peck o' maut.'''' 

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 
And Rob and Allan cam to see ; 

Three blither hearts, that lee-lang 
night, 
Ye wad na find in Christendie. 



We are na fou, we're no that fou. 

But just a drappie in our ee ; 
The cock may craw, the day may 
daw, 
And aye we'll taste the barley 
bree. 

Here are we met, three merry boys. 
Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 

And monie a night we've merry been. 
And monie mae we hope to be ! 
We are na fou, etc. 

It is the moon, I ken her horn. 
That's blinkin in the lift sae hie ; 

She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, 
But by my sooth she'll wait a wee ! 
We are na fou, etc. 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa,^ 
A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 

Wha first beside his chair shall fa', 
He is the King among us three ! 
We are na fou, etc. 

1 Burns writes concerning this song :— 
" The air is -Masterton's, the song mine. 
The occasion of it was this : Mr. William 
Nicol, of the High School of Edinburgh, 
during the Autumn vacation, being at 
Moffat, honest Allan, who was at that time 
on a visit to Dalswinton, and I, went to pay 
Nicol a visit. We had such a joyous meet- 
ing, that Mr. Masterton and I agreed, eacli 
in our own way, that we should celebrate 
the business. 

^ In many editions this line is printed. 
"Wha last beside his chair shall fa." In 
Johnson's " Museum " it is given as in the 
text. It seems more in accordance with 
the splendid bacchanalian frenzy that he 
should be king who 

Rushed into the field and foremost fight- 
ing fell. 



THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE.i 

Tune—" The hlathrie o'i." 

I GABD a waefu' gate yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ; 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright, 

Her lips like roses wat wi' dew, 
Her heaving bosom lily-white ; — 

It was her een sae bonnie blue. 

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she 
wyl'd. 
She charm'd my soul I wistna 
how; 
And aye the stound, the deadly 
wound. 
Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue. 
But spare to speak, and spare to 
speed ; 
She'll aiblins listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead 
To her twa een sae bonnie blue. 



JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. 

John Anderson my 30, John, 

When we were first acquent. 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is held, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson my jo. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither ; 
And monie a canty day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anither: 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go. 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson my jo. 

Victory does not lie in stamina or endur- 
ance. For the moment intoxication is 
the primal good, and he is happiest who is 
first intoxicated. 

1 At Lochmaben Burns spent an evenmg 
at the manse with the Rev. Andrew Jef- 
frey. His daughter Jean, a blue-eyed 
blonde of seventeen, presided at the tea- 
table. Next morning at breakfast the 
poet presented the young lady with the 
song. 



MY TOCHER S THE JEWEL. 



271 



TAM GLEN.i 

Tune—" ZTie mucking o' Geordie's &t/re." 

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, 
Some counsel unto me come len', 

To anger them a' is a pity ; 
But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ? 

I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, 
In poortith I might mak a fen' ; 

What care I in riches to wallow, 
If I maunna marry Tam Glen ? 

There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller, 

" Guid-day to you," brute! he 

comes ben : 

He brags and he braws o' his siller. 

But when will he dance like Tam 

Glen? 

My minnie does constantly deave me, 
And bids me beware o' young men ; 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; 
But wlia can think sae o' Tam 
Glen? 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him. 
He'll gie me guid hunder marks 
ten : 

But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, 
O wha will I get but Tam Glen ? 

Yestreen at the Valentines' dealing. 
My heart to my mou gied a sten : 

For thrice I drew ane without failing. 
And thrice it was written, Tam 
Glen. 

The last Halloween I was waukin 
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; 



His likeness cam up the house 
staukin — 
And the wtvj gray breeks o' Tam 
Glen! 

Come counsel, dear Tittie, don't 
tarry ; 

I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, 
Gif ye will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. 

GANE IS THE DAY^ 

Tune— " (rtwcZici/e count the lawin.'" 

Gane is the day. and mirk's the night, 
But we'll ne'er stray for faute o' light, 
For ale and brandy's stars and moon, 
And bluid-red wine's the risin' sun. 



Then guidwife count the lawin, the 

lawin, the lawin. 
Then guidwife count the lawin, and 

bring a coggie mair. 

There's wealth and ease for gentle- 
men. 

And semple-folk maun fecht and 
fen'. 

But here we're a' in ae accord. 

For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 
Then guidwife count, etc. 

My coggie is a haly pool, 

That heals the wounds o' care and 

dool ; 
An' pleasure is a wanton trout. 
An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out. 
Then guidwife count, etc. 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

O iiEiKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty, 

And meikle thinks my luve o' mj^ kin ; 
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie 

My Tocher's the jewel has charms for him. 
It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree; 

It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee ; 
My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, 

He canna hae luve to spare for me. 



* This song appears in the " Museum " with Burns' name attached. Mrs. Begg main- 
tained that it was an old song which her brother brushed up and retouched. 



272 



THE BONNIE WEE THING. 



Your proifer o' luve's an airle-penny, 

My Tocher's the bargain ye wad buy ; 
But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin, 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. 
Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood ; 

Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree ; 
Ye'U slip frae me like a knotless thread, 

And yell crack your credit wi' mae nor me. 

WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO WI' AN AULD MAN? 

Tune—" Wliat can a Lassie do.'''' 

What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? 

Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian ! 
Bad luck on the penny, etc. 

He's always compleenin frae mornin to e'enin, 
He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang : 

He's doylt and he's dozin, his bluid it is frozen, 
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 

I never can please him do a' that I can ; 
He's peevish, and jealous of a' the young fellows: 

O, dool on the day, I met wi' an auld man ! 

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, 

I'll do my endeavor to follow her plan ; 
I'll cross him, and rack him, until I heart-break him, 

And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 



O, FOR ANE AND TWENTY, 
TAM! 

Tune—" The Moudiewort.'''' 
CHORUS. 

An O for ane and twenty, Tam ! 

An hey, sweet ane and twenty, 
Tam! 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang, 

An I saw ane and twenty, Tam. 

They snool me sair, and hand me 
down. 
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam ! 
But three short years will soon wheel 
roun'. 
And then comes ane and twenty, 
Tam. 
An O for ane, etc. 

* " Charming lovely Da vies 



A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear, 
Was left me by my auntie, Tam ; 

At kith or kin I need na spier, 
An I saw ane and twenty, Tam. 
An O for ane, etc. 

They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, 

Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam ; 
But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my 
loof, 
I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam I 
An O for ane, etc. 

THE BONNIE WEE THING.i 

Tune—" The Lads of Saltcoats.''^ 

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing. 

Lovely wee thing, was thou mine. 
I wad wear thee in my bosom, 

Lest my jewel I should tine. 

' is the heroine of this song. 



COUNTRY LASSIE. 



273 



Wishfully I look and languish 
In that bounie face o' thine ; 

And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, 
ijest my wee thing be na mine. 

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, 

In ae constellation shine ; 
To adore thee is my duty, 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
Bonnie wee, etc. 

THE BANKS OF NITH. 

Tune—" Robie Donna Gorach." 

The Thames flows proudly to the 
sea, 
Where royal cities stately stand ; 
But sweeter flows the Nith to me. 
Where Cummins ance had high 
command : 
When shall I see that honor'd land, 
That winding stream I love so 
dear! 
Must wayward fortune's adverse 
hand 
For ever, ever keep me here ? 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales. 
Where spreading hawthorns gaily 
bloom ; 
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 
Where lambkins wanton thro' the 
broom ! 
The' wandering, now, must be my 
doom. 
Far from thy bonnie banks and 
braes. 
May there my latest hours consume, 
Amang the friends of early days ! 

BESSY AND HER SPINNIN 
WHEEL. 

Tune—" Bottom of the Punch Bowl.'''' 

O LEEZE me on my spinnin wheel, 
O leeze me on my rock and reel : 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien. 
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en ! 
I'll set me down and sing and spin, 
While laigh descends the simmer sun. 
Blest wi' content, and milk and 

meal — 
O leeze me on my spinnin wheel. 
18 



On ilka hand the burnies trot. 
And meet below my theekit cot ; 
The scented birk and hawthorn 

white, 
Across the pool their arms unite. 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest. 
And little fishes' caller rest : 
The sun blinks kindly in the biel'. 
Where blithe I turn my spinnin 

wheel. 

On lofty aiks the cushats wail. 
And echo cons the doolf u' tale ; 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes. 
Delighted, rival ither'slays; 
The craik amang the claver hay, 
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley. 
The swallow jinkin round my shiel, 
Amuse me at my spinnin wheel, 

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 
O wha wad leave this humble state, 
For a' the pride of a' the great ? 
Amid their flarin, idle toys, 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinnin wheel ? 



COUNTRY LASSIE. 

Tune — " John, come kiss me wow." 

In simmer when the hay w^as mawn, 

And corn wav'd green in ilka field, 
While clover blooms white o'er the 
lea. 

And roses blaw in ilka bield ; 
Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel. 

Says, ' ' I'll be wed, come o't what 
will;" 
Out spake a dame in wrinkled eild, 

" O' guid advisement comes nae ill. 

" It's ye hae wooers monie ane. 

And, lassie, ye're but young ye 
ken; 
Then w^ait a wee, and cannie wale 

A routhie butt, a routhie ben : 
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; 
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen. 

Its plenty beets the luver's fire." 



274 



THE POSIE. 



" For Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen 

I dinna care a single tiie; 
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye, 

He has nae luve to spare for me : 
But blithe's the blink o' Robie's ee, 

And weel I wat he loe's me dear ; 
Ae blink o' him I wad nae gie 

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear." 

" O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught ! 

The canniest gate, the strife is sair ; 
But aye f u' han't is fechtin best, 

A hungry care's an unco care ; 
But some will spend, and some will 
spare. 

An' wilf u' folk maun hae their will ; 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the 

yiii." 

" O, gear will buy me rigs o' land. 

And gear will buy me sheep an kye ; 
But the tender heart o' leesome luve 

The gowd and siller canna buy ; 
We may be poor — Robie and I, 

Light is the burden luve lays on ; 
Content and luve brings peace and 
joy, 

What mair hae queens upon a 
throne ? " 



TUKE- 



FAIR ELIZA.1 

The honnie hrucket Lassie.'''' 



Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part. 
Rue on thy despairing lover ! 

Canst thou break liis faithf u' heart? 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza ; 

If to love thy heart denies, 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise! 



Thee, dear maid, hae I offended ? 

The offense is loving thee ; 
Canst thou wreck his peace forever, 

Wha for thine wad gladly die ? 
While the life beats in my bosom, 

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe: 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

Not the bee upon the blossom, 

In the pride o' sinny noon ; 
Not the little sporting fairy. 

All beneath the simmer moon; 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens in his ee. 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, 

That thy presence gies to me. 



SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. 

She's fair and fause that causes my 
smart, 

I lo'ed her meikle and lang ; 
She's broken her vow, she's broken 
my heart. 

And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof cam in wi' rowth o' gear, 
And I hae tint my dearest dear. 
But woman is but warld's gear, 

Sae let the bonnie lass gang. 

Whae'er ye be that woman love, 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind : 
O Woman lovely, Woman fair ! 
An Angel form's faun to thy share, 
'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee 
mair, 

I mean an Angel mind. 



THE P0SIE.2 



O LUVE will venture in, where it daur na weel be seen, 
O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been ; 
But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae green, 
And a' to pu' a Posie to my ain dear May. 

* In the original MS. the name of the heroine of this son^ was Rabina. 
2 It will be noticed that this song is not distinguished by botanical correctness, 
the Posie Burns has gathered the flowers of spring, summer, and autumn. 



Into 



THE BANKS O DOON. 



275 



The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, 
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, 
For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms w^ithout a peer: 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. 

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, 
For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou ; 
The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue, 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. 

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair. 
And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there ; 
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air, 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. 

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller gray. 
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day, 
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away; 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. 

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near, 
And the diamond drops o' dew shall be her een sae clear: 
The violet's for modesty which wee\ she fa's to wear. 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. 

I'll tie the Posie round wi' the silken band o' luve. 
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above, 
That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remuve, 
And this will be a Posie to my ain dear May. 



THE BANKS O' DOON.i 
Tune—" The Caledonian HunVs delight.'"' 
Ye banks and braes 0' bonnie Doon, 
How can ye bloom sae fresh and 
fair ! 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae weary fu' o' care ! 
Thou'lt break my heart, thou war- 
bling bird. 
That wantons thro' the flowering 
thorn : 
Thou minds me o' departed joys. 
Departed — never to return. 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie 
bird, 
That sings beside thy mate, 



For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist na o' my fate. 
Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine 
twine ; 
And ilka bird sang o' its luve. 

And fondly sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver stole my rose, 

But ah! he left the thorn wi' 
me. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Upon a morn in June ; 
And sae I flourish'd on the mom, 

And sae was pu'd on noon. 



* This song: appeared with Bnrns's name attached in Johnson's " Museum." The sim- 
ple and finer version which follows was sent to Mr. Ballantine in 1787. ""While here I 
sit," Burns writes, " sad and solitary, by the side of a fire in a little country inn, and 
drying my wet clothes." 



2/6 



BEHOLD THE HOUR. 



VERSION PRINTED IN THE 
MUSICAL MUSEUM. 

Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, 
How can ye blume sae fair ? 

How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
And I sae fu' o' care. 

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie 
bird, 
That sings upon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy 
days, 
When my fause luve was true. 



Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie 
bird, 

That sings beside thy mate; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 
To see the woodbine twine, 

And ilka a bird sang o' his love. 
And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Frae off its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver staw the rose 

But left the thorn wi' me. 



GLOOMY DECEMBER. 1 

Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December ! 

Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 
Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure, 

Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour ; 
But the dire feeling, O farewell forever, 

Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. 

Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, 

Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, 
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, 

Since my last hope and last comfort is gone ; 
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 

Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
For sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 



BEHOLD THE HOUR.2 

Tune—" Oran Gaoil. 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ! 
Thou goest, thou darling of my 
heart : 
Sever'd from thee can I survive ? 
But fate has will'd, and we must 
part! 
I'll often greet this surging swell ; 
Yon distant isle will often hail : 
" E'en here I took the last farewell ; 
There latest mark'd her vanish'd 
sail." 

^ This song was addressed to Clarinda. 

2 Burns wrote to Mr. Thomson, September, 1793 :— " The following song I have com 
posed for Oran Gaoil, the Highland air that you tell me in your last you have resolved 
to give a place to in your book. I have this moment finished the song ; so you have it 
glowing from the mint. If it suits you, well I if not, 'tis also well 1 " 



Along the solitary shore. 
While flitting sea-fowls round me 
cry, 
Across the rolling, dashing roar, 
I'll westward turn my wistful 
eye: 
"Happy, thou Indian grove," I'll 
say, 
"Where now my Nancy's path 
may be ! 
While thro' thy sweets she loves to 
stray, 
O tell me, 'does she muse on 
me?" 



AFTON WATER. 



277 



WILLIE'S WIFE. 

Tune—" Tibbie Foivler in the Glen.'''' 

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdod- 
die, 
Willie was a wabster guid, 
Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie 
bodie ; 
He had a wife wos dour and din, 
O Tinkler Madgie was her mither ; 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 
I wad na gie a button for her. 



She has an ee, she has but ane. 
The cat has twa the very color : 

Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 
A clapper tongue wad deave 
miller, 

A whiskin beard about her mou, 



Her nose and chin they threaten 
ither ; 
Sic a wife, etc. 

She's bow-hough'd, she's hein 
shinn'd. 
Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter ; 
She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 

To balance fair in ilka quarter: 
She has a hump upon her breast. 
The twin 0' that upon her shouther -. 
Sic a wife, etc. 

Auld baudrons by the ingle sits, 

An' wi her loof her face a-washin ; 
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig. 
She dights her grunzie wi' a 
hushion, 
Her walie nieves like midden-creels, 
Her face wad fyle the Logan-water 
Sic a wife as Wille had, 
I wad na gie a button for her. 



AFTON WATER. 1 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream. 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, 
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, 
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills, 
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills ; 
There daily I wander as noon rises high. 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below. 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; 
There oft as mild ev'ning weeps over the lea. 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides. 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
As gathering sweet flow'ret she stems thy clear wave. 



* According to Dr. Currie this song was composed in honor of Mrs. Stewart of Stair. 
Gilbert Burns thought the verses referred to Highland Mary. Afton is an Ayrshire 
stream, and flows into the Nith, near New Cumnock. 



2/8 



THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. 



Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY 
THEE? 

aye glowring o' 



TUNE- 



My Mother's 
me. 



Louis, what reck I by thee, 

Or Geordie on his ocean 1 
Dyvour, beggar loons to me, 

I reign in Jeanie's bosom. 

Let her crown my love her law. 
And in her breast enthrone me : 

Kings and nations, swith awa ! 
Reif randies, I disown ye ! 

BONNIE BELL. 
The smiling spring comes in rejoic" 

ing, 
And surly winter grimly flies : 
Now crystal clear are the falling 
waters, 
And bonnie blue are the sunny 
skies ; 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth 
the morning, 
The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell ; 
All creatures joy in the sun's return- 

iiig» 
And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. 

The flowery spring leads sunny sum- 
mer. 
And yellow autumn presses near. 
Then in his turn comes gloomy 
winter, 
Till smiling spring again appear. 
Thus seasons dancing, life advanc- 
ing, [tell, 
Old Time and Nature their changes 
But never ranging, still unchanging 
I adore my bonnie Bell. 

FOR THE SAKE OF 
SOMEBODY. 

Tune—" The Highland Watch's farewell.''' 
My heart is sair, I dare na tell, 
My heart is sair for somebody ; 



I could wake a winter night. 
For the sake o' somebody ! 

Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 

Oli-hey ! for somebody ! 
I could range the world around, 
For the sake o' somebody. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous 
love, 
O, sweetly smile on somebody ! 
Frae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oli-hey ! for somebody ! 
I wad do — what wad I not ? 
For the sake o' somebody ! 

O MAY, THY MORN.i 

O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet, 
As the mirk night o' December; 

For sparkling was the rosy wine, 
And private was the chamber: 

And dear was she I dare na name, 
But I will aye remember. 
And dear, etc. 

And here's to them, that, like oursel, 

Can push about the jorum. 
And here's to them that wish us 
weel, 
May a' that's guid watch o'er them ; 
And here's to them we dare na tell. 
The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here's to, etc. 

THE LOVELY LASS OF 
INVERNESS.2 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she 
see; 
For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 

And aye the saut tear blius her ee ; 
Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, 

A waef u' day it was to me ; 
For there I lost my father dear, 

My father dear, and brethren three. 



1 Clarinda is supposed to be the subject of this song. 

2 The first four lines of this song are old. 



A VISION. 



79 



Their winding-sheet the bhiidy clay, 
Their graves are growing green to 
see; 
And by them lies the dearest lad 
That ever blest a woman's ee ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 

A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
For monie a heart thou hast made 
sair, 
That ne'er did wrang to thine or 
thee. 

A RED, RED ROSE. 1 

Tune — " Wishaiifs favorite.'''' 
O, MY luve's like a red, red rose, 

That's newly sprung in June : 
O, my luve's like the melodic 

That's sweetly played in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

Till a* the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear. 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 

I will luve thee still, my dear, 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve, 
And fare thee weel awhile ! 

And I will come again, my luve, 
Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 

O, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON 
TOWN? 2 

Tune—" Tlie bonnie Lass in yon town.'''' 
O, WAT ye wha's in yon town. 

Ye see the e'enin sun upon ? 
The fairest dame's in yon town, 

That e'enin sun is shining on. 

Now haply down yon gay green 
shaw. 
She wanders by yon spreading 
tree : 
How blest, ye flow'rs that round her 
blaw, 
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e ! 

- The foundation of this song was a short 
ditty, written, it is said, by one Lieutenant 
Hinches, as a farewell to his sweetheart. 

2 This song was composed in honor of 
Mrs. Oswald, of Auchincruive, 



How blest, ye birds that round her 
sing, 
And welcome in the blooming 
year. 
And doubly welcome be the spring, 
The season to my Luc}^ dear ! 

The sun blinks blithe on yon town. 
And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr ; 

But my delight in yon town, 
And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a the charms 
O' Paradise could jield me joy; 

But gie me Luc}^ in my arms. 

And welcome Lapland's dreary 
sky. 

My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
Tho' raging winter rent the air; 

And she a lovely little flower. 

That I wad tent and shelter there. 

sweet is she in yon town. 

Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon; 
A fairer than's in yon town, 
His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

If angry fate is sworn my foe. 
And suffering I am doom'd to bear ; 

1 careless quit all else below, 

But spare me, spare me Luc}^ dear. 

For while life's dearest blood is 
warm, 
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er de- 
part. 
And she — as fairest is her form. 
She has the truest, kindest heart. 

A VISION. 

Tune—" Cumnoch Psalms.'''' 
As I stood by yon roofless tower, 
Where the wa' flower scents the 
dewy air, 
Where the howlet mourns in her ivy 
bower. 
And tells the midnight moon her 
care. 

cnoRUs. 
A lassie all alone was making her 
moan, 
Lamenting our lads beyond the sea : 



28o 



THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 



In the bluidy wars they fa', and our 
honor's gane an' a', 
And broken-hearted we maun die. 

The winds were laid, the air was still, 
The stars they shot alang the sky ; 

The fox was howling on the hill, 
And the distant-echoing glens 
reply. 

The stream, adown its hazelly path, 
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's, 

Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 
Whase distant roarings swell and 
fa's. 

The cauld blue north was streaming 
forth 

Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din ; 
Athort the lift they start and shift. 

Like fortune's favors, tint as win. 

By heedless chance I turn'd mine 
eyes. 
And, by the moonbeam, shook to 
see 
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I a statue been o' stane, 
His darin look had daunted me : 

And on his bonnet grav'd was plain 
The sacred posy — Libertie ! 

And f rae his harp sic strains did flow, 
Might rous'd the slumbering dead 
to hear ; 

But oh, it was a tale of woe, 
As ever met a Briton's ear ! 

He sang wi' joy his former day. 
He weeping wail'd his latter times ; 

But what he said it was nae play, 
I winna venture't in my rhymes. 

O, WERT THOU IN THE 
CAULD BLAST. 

Tune—" The Lass of Livingstone.'''' 

O, WERT thou in the cauld blast. 
On yonder lea, on yonder lea. 

My plaidie to the angry airt, 
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee. 



Or did misfortune's bitter storms 
Around thee blaw, around thee 
blaw. 

Thy bield should be my bosom, 
To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste. 

Of earth and air, of earth and air, 
The desert were a paradise. 

If thou wert there, if thou wert 
there. 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 
The only jewel in my crown 

Wad be my queen, wad be my 
queen. 

THE HIGHLAND LASSIE.i 

Tune—" T7ie dexiks dang o^er my daddy.''"' 

Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair, 
Shall ever be my Muse's care ; 
Their titles a' are empty show ; 
Gie me my Highland lassie, O. 



Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O, 
I set me down wi' right good will, 
To sing my Highland lassie, O. 

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine. 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, etc. 

But fickle fortune frowns on me. 
And I maun cross the raging sea ; 
But while my crimson currents flow 
I'll love my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, etc. 

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change, 
For her bosom burns with honor's 

glow. 
My faithful Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, etc. 

1 This song is supposed to connect itself 
with the attachment to Highland Mary 
and the idea of emigration to the West 
Indies. 



THO CRUEL FATE. 



281 



For her I'll dare tlie billow's roar, 
For her I'll trace a distant shore, 
That Indian wealth may luster throw 
Around my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, etc. 

She has my heart, she has my hand, 
By sacred truth and honor's band ! 
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me 

low, 
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, O. 

Fareweel the glen sae bushy, O ! 
Fareweel the plain sae rushy, O. 
To other lands I now must go, 
To sing my Highland lassie, O ! 



JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PART- 
ING KISS. 

Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, 
O'er the mountains he is gane ; 

And with him is a' my bliss, 
Nought but griefs with me remain. 

Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, 
Flashy sleets and beating rain ! 

Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, 
Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 

When the shades of evening creep 
O'er the day's fair, gladsome ee, 

Sound and safely may he sleep. 
Sweetly blithe his waukening be ! 

He will think on her he loves, 
Fondly he'll repeat her name ; 

For where'er he distant roves, 
Jockey's heart is still at hame. 



PEGGY'S CHARMS. 1 

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form. 
The frost of hermit age might warm ; 
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's 

mind. 
Might charm the first of humankind. 
I love my Peggy's angel air, 
Her face so truly, heavenly fair, 

• Written in celebration of the personal 
jind mental attractious of Miss Chalmers, 



Her native grace so void of art ; 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 

The lily's hue, the rose's dye, 
The kindling luster of an eye ; 
Who but owns their magic sway, 
Who but knows they all decay ! 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear, 
The generous purpose, nobly dear, 
The gentle look that rage disarms, 
These are all immortal charms. 



UP IN THE MORNING 
EARLY. 

CHORUS. 1 

Up in the morning's no for me, 
Up in the morning early; 

When a' the hills are cover'd wi' 
snaw, 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to 
west, 

The drift is driving sairly; 
Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 

A' day they fare but sparely ; 
A.nd lang's the night frae e'en to 
morn, 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 
Up in the morning, etc. 



THO' CRUEL FATE. 

Tho' cruel fate should bid us part. 
As far's the pole and line ; 

Her dear idea round my heart 
Should tenderly entwine. 

Tho' mountains frown and deserts 
howl, 

And oceans roar between ; 
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 

I still would love my Jean.'^ 



1 The chorus of the song is old. 

2 Jean Armour is the Jean referred to. 



282 



MY heart's in the HIGHLANDS. 



I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE 

FLOWERS WERE 

SPRINGING. 1 

I dream'd I lay where flowers were 
springing 
Gaily in the sunny beam; 
List'ning to the wild birds singing, 

By a falling, crystal stream: 
Straight the sky grew black and 
daring ; 
Thro' the woods the whirlwinds 
rave; 
Trees with aged arms were warring. 
O'er the swelling drumlie wave. 

Such was my life's deceitful morn- 
ing. 
Such the pleasures I enjoy'd; 
But lang or noon, loud tempests 
storming 
A' my flowery bliss destroy'd. 
Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me, 
She promis'd fair, and perform'd 
but ill, 
Of monie a joy and hope bereav'd 
me, 
I bear a heart shall support me 
still. 

BONNIE ANN.2 

Ye gallants bright, I red you right, 

Beware o' bonnie Ann : 
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace, 

Your heart she will trepan. 
Her een sae bright, like stars by 
night, 



Her skin is like the swan ; 
Sae jimpy lac'd her genty waist, 
That sweetly ye might span. 

Y'^outh, grace, and love, attendant 
move, 
And pleasure leads the van ; 
In a' their charms, and conquering 
arms. 
They wait on bonnie Ann. 
The captive bands may chain the 
hands, 
But love enslaves the man: 
Ye gallants braw, I red you a' 
Beware o' bonnie Ann. 



MY BONNIE MARY. 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

An' fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink before I go, 

A service to my bonnie lassie. 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the 
ferry ; 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary, 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked 
ready ; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
But it's no the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad mak melanger wish to tarry; 
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar. 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 



MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.s 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe. 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birth-place of valor, the country of worth; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands forever I love. 

1 This is one of Burns earliest productions. 

2 " I composed this song out of comphment to Miss Ann Masterton, the daughter of 
my friend Allan Masterton, the author of the air, Sfrathallan's Lament.''''— B. 

3 The first stanza of this song is taken from a stall ditty, entitled The Strong Walls 
of Derry. 



I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR. 



283 



Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow ; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below ; 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 

THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY.i 

Tune—" Neil Goio's laments 

There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity. 

That he from our lasses should wander awa ; 
For he's bonnie and braw, weel-favor'd witha'. 

And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. 
His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue ; 

His fecket as white as the new-driven snaw; 
His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, 

And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. 
His coat is the hue, etc. 

For beaut}^ and fortune the laddie's been courtin ; 

Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted and braw; 
But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her, 

The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'. 
There's Meg wi' the mailin, that fain wad a haen him, 

And Susy whase daddy was Laird o' the ha" ; 
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy, 

— But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a'. 



THE RANTIN DOG THE 
DADDIE O'T. 

Tune—" East Nook o' Fife:' 

O WHA my babie-cloats will buy ? 
"Wha will tent me when I cry ? 
Wha will kiss me whare I lie ? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. 

Wha will own he did the faut ? 
Wha will buy my groanin maut ? 
Wha will tell me how to ca't ? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. 

When I mount the creepie-chair, 
Wha will sit beside me there ? 
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair. 
The rantin doer the daddie o't. 



Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
Wha will mak me tidgiu fain ? 
Wha will kiss me o'er again ? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. 

I DO CONFESS THOU ART 
SAE FAIR. 
I DO confess thou art sae fair, 

I wad been o'er the lugs in luve ; 
Had I not found the slightest prayer 
That lips could speak, thy heart 
could muve. 

I do confess thee sweet, but find 
Thou art sae thriftless o' thy 
sweets. 

Thy favors are the silly wind 
That kisses ilka tiling it meets. 



^ Concerning: this song Burns writes :— "This air is claimed by Neil Gow, who calls it 
a lament for his brother. The first half stanza of the sonj;: is old ; the rest is mine." 

- " This song:," Burns writes, " is altered from a poem by Sir Robert Ayton, private 
secretary to Mary and Anne, Queens of Scotland. ... I think I have improved the 
simplicity of the sentiments by giving them a Scots dress." 



284 W^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^ BOWER DOOR. 



See yonder rose-bud rich in dew, 
Amang its native briers sae coy, 

How soon it tines its scent and hue 
When pu'd and worn a common 
toy I 



Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide, 
Tho' thou may gaily bloom a 
while ; 

Yet soon thou shalt be thrown aside. 
Like onie common weed and vile. 



YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 

Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, 
That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, 
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to teed, 
And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed: 
Where the grouse, etc. 

Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores, 
To me hae the charms o' yon wild mossy moors; 
For there, by a lanely, sequester'd clear stream. 
Besides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 

Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path. 
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green narrow strath; 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove. 
While o'er us unheeded fly the swift hours o love. 

She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair ; 
O' nice education but sma' is her share ; 
Her parentage humble as humble can be, 
But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. 

To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, 
In her armor of glances, and blushes, and sighs ? 
And when wit and refinement hae polish d her darts, 
They dazzle our een, as they fly to our hearts. 

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling ee, 
Has luster outshining the diamond to me ; ^ 
And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp d m her arms, 
O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms ! 

WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER I Gif I rise and let you in; 
-nnr»T?9 Letmein, quo'Findlay; 

-L>^^^ • Ye'll keep me waukin wi youi 



Wha is that at my bower door ? 

O wha is it but Findlay ; 
Then gae your gate, ye"se nae be 
here ! 

Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. 
What mak ye sae like a thief ? 

O come and see, quo' Findlay ; 
Before the morn ye'll work mischief ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 



din; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
In my bower if ye should stay ; 

Let me stay, quo' Findlay ; 
I fear ye'll bide till break o' day ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Here this night if ye remain; 
I'll remain, quo' Findlay; 



THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S FAR AWAY. 



285 



I dread ye'll learn the gate again ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
What may pass within this bower — 

Let it pass, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye maun conceal till your last hour ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

FAREWELL TO NANCY. 1 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! 

Ae fareweel, alas, forever ! 

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge 

thee, 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage 

thee. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves 

him 
While the star of hope she leaves 

him? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me, 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy ; 
But to see her, was to love her ; 
Love but her, and love forever. 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly, 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly. 
Never met — or never parted, 
We had ne'er been broken hearted. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! 

Fare thee well, thou best and dear- 
est! 

Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 

Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleas- 
ure. 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 

Ae farewell, alas, forever ! 

Deep in heart-wrung tears I pledge 
thee. 

Warring sighs and groans I'll wage 
thee. 

THE BONNIE BLINK O' 
MARY'S EE. 

Now bank an' brae are claith'd in 
green, 
An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly 
spring, 

1 These verses were inspired by Clarinda 
—the most beautiful and passionate strain 
to which that strange attachment gave 
birth. 



By Girvan's fairy haunted stream 
The birdies tiit on wanton wing. 

To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's, 
There wi' my Mary let me flee. 

There catch her ilka glance o' love, 
The bonnie blink o' Mary's ee ! 

The chield wha boasts o' warld's 
wealth, 

Is af ten laird o' meikle care ; 
But Mary, she is a.' my ain. 

Ah, fortune canua gie me mair ! 
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks 

Wi' her the lassie dear to me. 
And catch her ilka glance o' love. 

The bonnie blink o' Mary's ee I 

OUT OVER THE FORTH. 

Out over the Forth I look to the 
north, 
But what is the north and its High- 
lands to me ? 
The south nor the east gie ease to my 
breast, 
The far foreign land, or the wild 
rolling sea. 

But I look to the west, when I gae 
to rest. 
That happy my dreams and my 
slumbers may be ; 
For far in the west lives he I lo'e 
best. 
The lad that is dear to my babie 
and me. 

THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S 
FAR AWAY. 

Tune—" Owre the hills and far away.'''' 

O HOW can I be blithe and glad. 
Or how can I gang brisk and braw, 

When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
Is o'er the hills and far awa ? 

It's no the frosty winter wind, 
It's no the driving drift and snaw ; 

But aye the tear comes in my ee, 
To think on him that's far awa. 

My father pat me frae his door. 
My friends they hae disown'd me 
a': 



286 



BANKS OF DEVON. 



But I hae ane will tak my part, 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

A pair o' gloves he gae to me, 

And silken snoods he gae me twa ; 

And I will wear them for his sake, 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

The weary winter soon will pass, 
And spring will deed the birken- 
shaw : 

And my sweet babie will be born, 
And he'll come hame that's far awa. 



THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF 

ANNA.1 
Tune—" Banks of Banna.'''' 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 

A place where body saw na' ; 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 

The gowden locks of Anna. 
The hungry Jew in wilderness 

Rejoicing o'er his manna, 
Was naething to my hinny bliss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 



Ye monarchs, tak the east and west, 

Frae Indus to Savannah ! 
Gie me within my straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna. 
There I'll despise imperial charms, 

An Empress or Sultana, 
While dying raptures in her arms, 

I give and take with Anna ! 

Awa, thou flaunting god o' day ! 

Awa, thou pale Diana! 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray 

When I'm to meet my Anna. 
Come, in thy raven plumage, night. 

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a' ; 
And bring an angel pen to write 

My transports wi' my Anna ! 

POSTSCRIPT, 

The kirk and state may join, and tell 

To do such things I mauna : 
The kirk and state may gae to hell. 

And I'll gae to my Anna. 
She is the sunshine o' my ee, 

To live but her I canna; 
Had I on earth but wishes three, 

The first should be my Anna. 



BANKS OF DEV0N.2 

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, 
With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair! 

But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon 
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 

Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, 
In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew ! 

And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, 
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 

O, spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes. 
With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn ! 

And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes 
The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn I 

Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies. 

And England triumphant display her proud rose; 

A fairer than either adorns the green valleys 
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 

>■ Allan Cunningham states that Burns considered this to be the finest love-song he 
had ever composed— an opinion in which few readers will concur. 

2 " These verses," says Burns, " were composed on a charming girl, Miss Charlotte 
Hamilton, who is now married to James Mackittrick Adair, phj^sician. She is sister to 
my worthy friend Gavin Hamilton, of Mauchline, and was born on the banks of the 
Ayr." 



THE DE'IL'S AWA WI' THE EXCISEMAN. 



287 



ADOWN WINDING NITH. 

Tune — " The muckin o' Geordie's byre.'''' 

Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
To mark the sweet flowers as they 
spring ; 

Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
Of Phillis to muse and to sing. 

CHORUS. 

Awa wi' your belles and your beau- 
ties, 

They never wi' her can compare ; 
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis, 

Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy. 
So artless, so simple, so wild ; 

Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, 
For she is Simplicity's child. 
Awa, etc. 

The rose-bud's the blush o' my 
charmer, 
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis 
prest : 
How fair and how pure is the lily. 
But fairer and purer her breast. 
Awa, etc. 

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbor, 
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie. 
Her breath is the breath o' the wood- 
bine, 
Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. 
Awa, etc. 

Her voice is the song of the morning 
That wakes through the green 
spreading grove 
When Phojbus peeps over the mount- 
ains, 
On music, and pleasure, and love. 
Awa, etc. 

But beauty how frail and how fleet- 
ing, 
The bloom of a fine summer's day ! 
While worth in the mind o' my 
Phillis 
Will flourish without a decay. 
Awa, etc. 



STREAMS THAT GLIDE.' 

Tune— "Jforag." 

Streams that glide in orient plains, 
Never bound by winter's chains ! 
Glowing here on golden sands, 
There commix'd with foulest stains 
From tyranny's empurpled bands: 
These, their richly-gleaming waves 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves ; 
Give me the stream that sweetly 
laves 
The banks by Castle Gordon. 

Spicy forests, ever gay. 
Shading from the burning ray 
Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
Or the ruthless native's way, 
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil: 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
I leave the tyrant and the slave. 
Give me the groves that lofty brave 
The storms, by Castle Gordon. 

Wildly here without control. 
Nature reigns and rules the whole ; 
In that sober pensive mood. 
Dearest to the feeling soul. 
She plants the forest, pours the 

floods ; 
Life's poor day I'll musing rave. 
And find at night a sheltering cave, 
Where waters flow and wild woods 

wave. 
By bonnie Castle Gordon. 

THE DE'IL'S AWA' WI' THE 
EXCISEMAN. 

The De'il cam fiddling thro' the 
town. 
And danc'd awa wi' the Excise- 
man; 
And ilka wifecry'd " Auld Mahoun, 
We wish you luck o' your prize, 
man. 

' ' We'll mak our maut, and brew 
our drink, 
We'll dance, and sing, and re- 
joice, man; 

1 This song was written soon after Burns' 
visit to Gordon Castle in 1787. 



288 



COME, LET ME TAKE THEE. 



And monie thanks to the muckle 
black De'il 
That danc'd awa wi' the Excise- 
man. 

" There's threesome reels, and four- 
some reels, 
There's hornpipes and strathspeys, 
man; 
But the ae best dance e'er cam to our 
Ian', 
Was— the De'il's awa wi' the Ex- 
ciseman. 
We'll mak our maut," etc. 



BLITHE HAE I BEEN 
YON HILL.i 



ON 



Tune— " izfifflferam cosh." 

Blithe hae I been on yon hill, 

As the lambs before me ; 
Careless ilka thought and free, 

As the breeze flew o'er me : 
Now nae langer sport and play, 

Mirth or sang can please me ; 
Lesley is sae fair and coy. 

Care and anguish seize me. 

Heavy, heavy is the task. 

Hopeless love declaring : 
Trembling, I dow nocht but glowr. 

Sighing, dumb, despairing: 
If she winna ease the thraws 

In my bosom swelling. 
Underneath the grass- green sod 

Soon maun be my dwelling. 

O WERE MY LOVE YON 
LILAC FAIR. 2 

Tune— " JHwgMe Ch'aham.'''' 

O WERE my love yon lilac fair, 
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ; 



And I, a bird to shelter there. 
When wearied on my little wing; 

How I wad mourn, when it was torn 
By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 

But I wad sing on wanton wing, 
When youthfu' May its bloom re- 
new'd. 

O gin my love were yon red rose 
That grows upon the castle wa', 

And I mysel' a drap o' dew. 
Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! 

Oh, there beyond expression blest, 
I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 

Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to 
rest. 
Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light. 



COME, LET ME TAKE THEE.8 

Tune— "Cawid TcaiV 

Come, let me take thee to my breast, 

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder; 
And I shall spurn as vilest dust 

The warld's wealth and grandeur; 
And do I hear my Jeanie own 

That equal transports move her ? 
I ask for dearest life alone 

That I may live to love her. 

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms, 

I clasp my countless treasure ; 
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to 
share. 

Then sic a moment's pleasure : 
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine forever ! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow, 

And break it shall I never. 



1 In September, 1793, Burns wrote to Mr. Thomson :— " Blithe hae I been o'er the hill 
is one of the finest songs ever I made in my hfe ; and, besides, is composed on a young 
lady, positively tlie most beautiful, lovely woman in the world." The young lady was 
Miss Leslie Baillie. 

* The first and second stanzas of this song are by Burns ; the third and fourth are 
old. 

3 In August, 1793, Burns wrote to Mr. Thomson :— "That tune, Cauld Kail, is such a 
favorite of yours, that I once more roved out yesterday for a gloamin-shot at the 
Muses : when the Muse that presides o'er the banks of Nith, or rather my old inspiring 
dearest nymph, Coila, whispered me the following." 



O SAW YE MY DEAR. 



289 



WHERE ARE THE JOYS.i 

Tune—" Saw ye my Father ? " 

Where are the joys I have met in the morning; 

That danc'd to the lark's early sang ? 
Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, 

At evening the wild woods amang ? 

No more a-winding the course of yon river, 
And marking sweet flow'rets so fair : 

No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure 
But sorrow and sad sighing care. 

Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys, 

And grim, surly winter is near ? 
No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses, 

Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover, 
Yet long, long too well have I known : 

All that has caus'd this wreck in my bosom, 
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, 

Nor hope dare a comfort bestow : 
Come, then, enamor'd and fond of my anguish, 

Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. 



O SAW YE MY DEAR.2 

Tune—" When she cam ben she bobbit.'' 
O SAW ye my dear, my Phely ? 
O saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a 
new love. 
She winna come hame to her Willy. 

What says she, my dearest, my 

Phely ? 
What says she, my dearest, my 

Phely ? 

» Burns wrote Mr. Thomson, September, 1793 :— " I have finished my song to Saw ye 
my Father ? and in English, as you will see. That there is a syllable too much for 
the expression of the air is true ; but allow me to say that the mere dividing of a 
dotted crotchet into a crotchet and a quaver is not a great matter : however, in that I 
have no pretensions to cope in judgment with you. The old verses have merit, though 
unequal, and are popular. My advice is to set the air to the old words, and let mine 
follow as English verses. Here they are." 

2 On the 19th of October, 1794. Burns wrote to Mr. Thomson :— "To descend to busi- 
ness ; if you like my idea of IMien she cam ben, she bobbit, the following stanzas of 
mine, altered a little'from what they were formerly when set to another air, may per- 
haps do instead of worse stanzas." 



She lets thee to wit that she has thee 
forgot, 
And forever disowns thee her 
Willy. 

O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely I 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
As light as the air, and* fause as 

thou's fair. 
Thou' St broken the heart o* thy 

Willy. 



290 



MY CHLORIS. 



THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, 
JAMIE. 1 

Tune— " i^ee hitn, father.'''' 

Thou has left me ever, Jamie, 

Thou hast left me ever ; 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 

Thou hast left me ever. 
Aften hast thou vow'd that death 

Only should us sever ; 
Now thou'st left thy lass for aye — 

I maun see thee never, Jamie, 
I'll see thee never ! 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 

Thou hast me forsaken; 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 

Thou hast me forsaken. 
Thou canst love anither jo. 

While my heart is breaking ; 
Soon my weary een I'll close — 

Never mair to waken, Jamie, 
Ne'er mair to waken ! 

MY CHLORIS. 

Tune—" My lodging is on the cold ground.'''' 

My Chloris, mark how green the 
groves, 

The primrose banks how fair : 
The balmy gales awake the flowers. 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay. 
And o'er the cottage sings : 

For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween. 
To shepherds as to kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string 

In lordly lighted ha' : 
The shepherd stops his simple reed. 

Blithe, in the birken shaw. 

1 In September, 1793, Burns wrote Mr. 
Thomson :— " Fee him. Father. I enclose 
you Eraser's set of this tune when he 
plays it slow : in fact he makes it the 
language of despair. I shall here give you 
two stanzas in that style, merely to try if 
it will be any improvement. Were it pos- 
sible in singing to give it half the pathos 
which Fraser gives it in playing, it would 
make an admirable pathetic song. I do 
not give the^e verses for any merit they 
have. I composed them at the time in 
which ' Patie Allan's mither died— that 
was. abovit the back of midnight,' and 
by the lee-side of a bowl of punch which 
had overset every mortal in company ex 
cept the hautbois and the Muse." 



The princely revel may survey 
Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 

But are their hearts as light as ours 
Beneath the milk-white thorn ? 

The shepherd, in the flowery glen, 
In shepherd's phrase will woo: 

The courtier tells a finer tale, 
But is his heart as true ? 

These wild -wood flowers I've pu'd, 
to deck 
That spotless breast o' thine : 
The courtier's gems may witness 
love — 
But 'tis na love like mine. 



CHARMING MONTH OF MAY.i 

Tune— "Damf?/ Davie.'''' 

It was the charming month of May, 
When all the flowers were fresh and 

gay, 
One morning, by the break of day. 
The youthful, charming Chloe; 

From peaceful slumber she arose, 
Girt on her mantle and her hose. 
And o'er the flowery mead she goes, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

CHORUS. 

Lovely was she by the dawn, 
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 

Tripping o'er the pearly lawn. 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

The feather'd people you might see 
Perch'd all around on every tree. 
In notes of sweetest melody 
They hail the charming Chloe ; 

Till, painting gay the eastern skies, 
The glorious sun began to rise, 
Out-rival'd by the radiant eyes 
Of youthful, charming Chloe. 
Lovely was she, etc. 

1 In November, 1794, Burns wrote Mr. 
Thomson :—'' You may think meanly of 
this, but take a look at the bombast origi- 
nal, and you will be surprised that I have 
made so much of it." 



JOHN BARLEYCORN. 



291 



LET NOT WOMAN E'ER 
COMPLAIN. 

Tune — ''■Duncan Gray.'''' 

Let not woman e'er complain 
Of inconstancy in love, 

Let not woman e'er complain, 
Fickle man is apt to rove : 

Look abroad through Nature's range. 
Nature's mighty law is change ; 

Ladies, would it not be strange, 
Man should then a monster prove ? 

Mark the winds, and mark the skies ; 

Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : 
Sun and moon but set to rise, 

Round and round the seasons go. 

Why then ask of silly man, 

To oppose great Nature's plan ? 

We'll be constant while we can — 
You can be no more, you know. 

O PHILLY. 

Tune—" The sow's taiV 



O Philly, happy be that day 
When, roving thro' the gather'd hay, 
My youthfu' heart was stown away, 
And by thy charms, my Philly. 

SHE. 

O Willy, aye I bless the grove 
Where first I own'd my maiden love. 
Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers 
above 
To be my ain dear Willy. 



As songsters of the early year 
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear, 
So ilka day to me mair dear 
And charming is my Philly. 



As on the brier the budding rose 
Still richer breathes and fairer blows. 
So in my tender bosom grows 
The love I bear my Willy. 



The milder sun and bluer sky. 
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy, 
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye 
As is the sight o' Philly. 



The little swallow's wanton wing, 
Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring, 
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring 
As meeting o' my Willy. 

HE. 

The bee that thro' the sunny hour 
Sips nectar in the opening flower, 
Compar'd wi' my delight is poor. 
Upon the lips o' Philly. 



The woodbine in the dewy weet 
When evening shades in silence meet 
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet 
As is a kiss o' Willy. 

HE. 

Let fortune's wheel at random rin. 
And fools may tyne, and knaves 

may win ! 
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, 
And that's my ain dear Philly. 

SHE. 

What's a' the joys that gowd can 

gie! 
I care na wealth a single flie ; 
The lad I love's the lad for me, 
And that's my ain dear Willy. 

JOHN BARLEYCORN. » 

A BALLAD. 

There was three Kings into the east, 
Three Kings both great and high, 

And they hae sworn a solemn oath. 
John Barleycorn should die. 

1 This is partly composed on the plan of 
an old sons? known by the same name. R. 
B. The ballad appeared in the first Edin- 
burgh edition. 



2g2 



CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS. 



They took a plough and plough'd 
him down, 

Put clods upon his head, 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

But the cheerfu' Spring came kindly 
on, 

And show'rs began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surpris'd them all. 

The sultry suns of summer came. 
And he grew thick and strong, 

His head weel arm'd wi' pointed 
spears, 
That no one should him wrong. 

The sober Autumn enter'd mild, 
When he grew wan and pale ; 

His bending joints and drooping head 
Show'd he began to fail. 

His color sicken'd more and more, 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began 

To show their deadly rage. 

They've ta'en a weapon, long and 
sharp. 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then tied him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back, 
And cudgel'd him full sore ; 

They hung him up before the storm, 
And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 

They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor. 
To work him farther woe, 

And still, as signs of life appear'd. 
They toss'd him to and fro. 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame. 
The marrow of his bones ; 

But a miller us'd him worst of all, 
For he crush'd him between two 
stones. 



And they hae ta'en his very heart's 
blood. 
And drank it round and round; 
And still the more and more they 
drank. 
Their joy did more abound. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise. 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise ; 

'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 

'Twill heighten all his joy; 
'Twill make the widow's heart to 
sing, 

Tho' the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 
Each man a glass in hand ; 

And may his great posterity 
Ne'er fail in old Scotland ! 

CANST THOU LEAVE ME 
THUS?i 

Tune— " iSoy's Wife:'' 

Canst thou leave me thus, my 

Katy? 
Canst thou leave me thus, my 

Katy? 
Well thou know'st my aching 

heart, 
And canst thou leave me thus for 

pity? 

Is this thy plighted, fond regard. 
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy? 
Is this thy faithful swain's reward— 
An aching, broken heart, my 
Katy? 
Canst thou, etc. 

Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrow tear 
That fickle heart of thine, my 
Katy! 
Thou may'st find those will love 
thee dear — 
But not a love like mine, my Katy. 
Canst thou, etc. 

1 On the 19th November, 1794, Burns 
wrote to Mr. Thomson:—" Well ! I think i 
this, to be done in two or three turns | 
across my room, and with two or three 
pinches of Irish blackguard, is not so far i 
amiss." 



WHEN GUILFORD GOOD OUR PILOT STOOD. 



293 



ON CHLORIS BEING ILL. 
Tune—" Aye waukin o." 

Long, long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow, 

While my soul's delight 
Is on her bed of sorrow. 

Can I cease to care, 
Can I cease to languish, 

While my darling fair 
Is on the couch of anguish 
Long, etc. 

Every hope is fled, 

Every fear is terror ; 
Slumber e'en I dread. 

Every dream is horror. 
Long, etc. 

Hear me, Pow'rs divine ! 

Oh, in pity hear me ! 
Take aught else of mine, 

But my Chloris spare me ! 
Long, etc. 

WHEN GUILFORD GOOD OUR 
PILOT STOOD. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Tune.—" Gillicrankiey 
When Guilford good our Pilot stood, 

An' did our hellim thraw, man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea. 

Within America, man : 
Then up they gat the maskin-pat, 

And in the sea did jaw, man ; 
An' did na less, in full Congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

Then thro' the lakes Montgomery 
takes, 

I wat he was na slaw, man ; 
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn. 

And Carleton did ca', man : 
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery-like did fa', man, 
Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 

Am.ang his en'mies a', man. 

Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage 
Was kept at Boston ha', man ; 

Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe 
For Philadelphia, man ; 



Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin 
Guid Christian bluid to draw, 
man, 
But at New York, wi' knife and 
fork. 
Sir Loin he hacked sma', man. 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' 
whip. 

Till Eraser brave did fa', man ; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day. 

In Saratoga shaw, man. 
Comwallis fought as lang's he 
dought. 

An' did the Buckskins claw, man ; 
But Clinton's glaive f rae rust to save. 

He hung it to the wa', man. 

Then Montague, an' Guilford too, 

Began to fear a fa', man ; 
And Sackville doure, wha stood the 
stoure. 

The German Chief to thraw, man : 
For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk. 

Nae mercy had at a', man, 
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box. 

An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man. 

Then Rockingham took up the 
game; 
Till death did on him ca', man ; 
When Shelburne meek held up his 
cheek, 
Conform to gospel law, man ; 
Saint Stephen's boys wi' jarring 
noise. 
They did his measures thraw, man. 
For North an' Fox united stocks. 
And bore him to the wa', man. 

Then Clubs an' Hearts were Charlie's 
cartes. 

He swept the stakes awa', man. 
Till the Diamond's Ace, of Indian 
race. 

Led him a sair faux pas, man: 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, 

On Chatham's boys did ca', man ; 
An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, 

" Up, Willie, waur them a', man! " 

Behind the throne then Grenville's 
gone, 
A secret word or twa', man; 



294 



MY NANNIE, O. 



While slee Dundas arous'd the class 

Be-north the Roman wa', man: 
An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly 
graith, 
(Inspired Bardies saw, man,) 
Wi' kindling eyes cry'd, " Willie, 
rise! 
Would I hae f ear'd them a', man ? " 

But word an' blow. North, Fox, and 
Co. 
Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man, 
Till Suthron raise, an' coost their 
claise 
Behind him in a raw, man ; 
An' Caledon threw by the drone. 
An' did her whittle draw, man ; 
An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' 
blood, 
To make it guid in law, man. 



THE RIGS O' BARLEY. 

Tune — " Corn rigs are bonnie.''^ 

It was upon a Lammas night. 

When corn rigs are bonnie. 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time flew by, wi' tentless heed, 

Till 'tween the late and early, 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed. 

To see me thro' the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was 
still. 

The moon was shining clearly ; 
I set her down, wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ; 
I ken't her heart was a' my ain ; 

I lov'd her most sincerely ; 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 

Her heart was beating rarely ; 
My blessings on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But by the moon and stars so bright, 

That shone that hour so clearly ! 
She aye shall bless that happy night 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear ; 
I hae been merry drinking ; 



I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear; 

I hae been happy thinking : 
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, 
That happy night was worth them a', 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

CHORUS. 

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs. 
An' corn rigs are bonnie: 

I'll ne'er forget that happy night, 
Amang the rigs wi" Annie. 

FAREWELL TO ELIZA. 

Tune—" Qilderoy." 
From thee, Eliza, I must go, 

And from my native shore ; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar: 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide, 

Between my Love and me, 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee. 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 

We part to meet no more ! 
But the last throb that leaves my 
heart. 

While death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, js thy part, 

And thine that latest sigh I 

MY NANNIE, O. 

Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has clos'd. 
And I'll awa' to Nannie, O. 

The westlin wind blaws loud an' 
shill ; 
The night's baith mirk and 
rainy, O: 
But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll 
steal. 
An' owre the hill to Nannie, O. 

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' 
young : 

Nae artf u' wiles to win ye, O : 
May ill befa' the flattering tongue 

That wad beguile my Nannie, O. 



NOW WESTLIN WINDS. 



295 



Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's bonaie, O : 

The op'ning gowaii, wat wi' dew, 
Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree, 
An' few there be that ken me, O ; 

But what care I how few they be, 
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. 

My riches a's my penny-fee. 
An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me. 
My thoughts are a', my Nannie, O. 

Our auld Guidman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O ; 

But I'm as blithe that hauds his 
pleugh, 
An' has nas nae care but Nannie, O. 

Come weel, come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what Heav'n will send 
me, O; 

Nae ither care in life have I, 
But live, an' love my Nannie, O. 

GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 

A FRAGMENT. 
CHORUS. 

Green grow the rashes, O ; 

Green grow the rashes, O ; 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, 

Are spent amang the lasses, O ! 

There's naught but care on cv'ry 
han' 
In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; 
What signifies the life o' man. 
An' 'twere na for the lasses, 0. 
Green grow, etc. 

The warly race may riches chase, 

An' riches still may fly them, O ; 
An' tho' at last they catch them fast. 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy 
them, O. 

Green grow, etc. 

But gie me a canny hour at e'en, 
My arms about my dearie, O ; 

An' warly cares, an' warly men, 
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O ! 
Green grow, etc. 



For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
Ye're naught but senseless asses, O : 

The wisest man the warl' saw. 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 
Green grown, etc. 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely 
dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O ; 
Her prentice han' she tried on man. 
An' then she made the lasses, O. 
Green grow, etc. 



NOW WESTLIN WINDS. 

Tune— " 7/iad a horse, I had nae mair. " 

Now westlin winds and slaught'ring 
guns 
Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring 
wings, 
Amang the blooming heather : 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the 
plain. 
Delights the weary farmer ; 
And the moon shines bright, when 
I rove at night 
To muse upon my charmer. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells ; 

The plover loves the mountains; 
The woodcock loves the lonely dells ; 

The soaring hern the fountains : 
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves. 

The path of man to shun it ; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush. 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, 

The savage and the tender; 
Some social join, and leagues com- 
bine; 

Some solitary wander ; 
Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring 
cry, 

The flutt'ring, gory pinion ! 

But, Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear, 
Thick flies the skimming swal- 
low ; 



296 



THE BIG-BELLIED BOTTLE. 



The sky is blue, the fields in view, 
All fading -green and yellow : 

Come let us stray our gladsome way, 
And view the charms of nature ; 

The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, 
And ev'ry happy creature. 

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk. 
Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 



I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly 
prest, 
Swear how I love thee dearly ; 
Not vernal show'rs to budding 
flow'rs 
Not autumn to the farmer, 
So dear can be, as thou to me, 
My fair, my lovely charmer ! 



THE BIG-BELLIED BOTTLE. 

Tune— " Prepare, my dear brethren, to the tavern leVsfly,'^'* 

No churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, . 
No sly man of business contriving a snare, 
For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care. 

The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow ; 

I scorn at the peasant, tho' ever so low ; 

But a club of good fellows, like those that are there, 

And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 

Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse ; 
There centum per centum, the cit with his purse ; 
But see you the Crown how it waves in the air, 
There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care. 

The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
That the big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care. 

I once was persuaded a venture to make ; 
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; 
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up-stairs, 
"With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 

"Life's cares they are comforts," a maxim laid down 
By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown, 
And, faith, I agree with th' old prig to a hair. 
For a big-belly'd bottle's a heav'n of a care. 



A STANZA ADDED EN A MASON LODGE. 

Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow, 
And honors masonic prepare for to throw; 
May every true brother of the compass and square 
Have a big-belly'd bottle when harass'd with care. 



THE FAREWELL. 



297 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL TO 
HIS NATIVE COUNTRY. 1 

Tune — " Roslin Castle.'''' 

The gloomy night is gatli'ring fast, 
Loud roars the loud inconstant blast, 
Yon murk}^ cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain; 
The hunter now has left the moor, 
The scattered coveys meet secure. 
While here I wander, prest with care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

The Autumn mourns her rip'ning 
corn 
By early winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid, azure sky. 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore ; 
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear : 
But round my heart the ties are 

bound, 
That heart transpierc'd with many a 

wound : 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

Farewell, old Coila's hills and 

dales, 
Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 
The scenes w^here wretched fancy 

roves, 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ! Farewell, my 

foes! 
My peace with these, my love with 

those — 

* In the autobiographical sketch for- 
warded to Dr. Moore, Burns writes :— 
" I had taken the last farewell of my few 
friends ; my chest was on the road to 
Greenock ; and I had composed the last 
song I should ever measure in Caledonia— 

The gloomy night is gathering fast : 
when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a 
friend of mine overthrew all my schemes, 
by opening new prospects to my poetic 
ambition." The song was printed in the 
first Edinburgh edition. 



The bursting tears my heart declare, 
Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

THE FAREWELL. 1 

TO THE BRETHREN OP ST. JAMES'S LODGE, 
TARBOLTON. 

Tune — " Guid night, and joy be ivP you a\" 

Adieu ! a heart-warm, fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 
Ye favor'd, ye enlighten'd few, 

Companions of my social joy! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, 

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba', 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'. 

Oft have I met your social band, 
And spent the cheerful, festive 
night, 
Oft, honor'd with supreme com- 
mand, 
Presided o'er the sons of light : 
And by that hieroglyphic bright. 
Which none but craftsmen ever 
saw! 
Strong mem'ry on my heart shall 
write 
Those happy scenes when far awa'. 

May freedom, harmony, and love, 

Unite you in the grand design. 
Beneath tli' Omniscient eye above, 

The glorious Architect Divine! 
That you may keep th' unerring 
line, 

Still rising by the plummet's law, 
Till Order bright, completel}' shine, 

Shall be my pray'r when far awa'. 

And You, farewell! whose merits 
claim, 

Justly, that highest badge to wear 1 
Heav'n bless your honor'd, noble 
name. 

To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 
A last request permit me here, 

When yearly ye assemble a', 
One round, I ask it with a tear, 

To him, the Bard that's far awa'. 

» Mr. Chambers states that the grand 
master referred to in the text was Major- 
General James Montgomery ; elsewhere 
the grand master is said to have been 
Sir John Whitef oord. 



298 



HIGHLAND MARY. 



AND MAUN I STILL ON MENIE 
DOAT.i 

Tune—" Jockie's gray hreeksy 

Again rejoicing nature sees 
Her robe assume its vernal hues. 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
All freshly steep'd in morning 
dews. 

CHORUS. 

And maun I still on Menie doat, 
And bear the scorn that's in her e'e ? 

For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a 
hawk 
An' it winna let a body be ! 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw. 
In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; 

In vain to me, in glen or shaw, 
The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 
And maun I still, etc. 

The merry ploughboy cheers his 
team, 
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks, 
But life to me's a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wauks. 
And maun I still, etc. 

The wanton coot the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 

The stately swan majestic swims. 
And every thing is blest but I. 
And maun I still, etc. 

The sheep -herd steeks his faulding 
slap, 
And owre the moorlands wi^istles 
shill, 
Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 
And maun I still, etc. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and 
dark. 
Blithe waukens by the daisy's side, 

^ Menie is the common abbreviation of 
Marianne. R. B. This chorus is a part of 
a song composed by a gentleman in Edin- 
burgh, a particular friend of the author's. 
R. B. This song appeared in the first 
Edinburgh edition. 



And mounts and sings on flittering 
wings, 
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward 
glide. 
And maun I still, etc. 

Come Winter, with thine angry 
howl. 
And raging bend tl .e naked tree ; 
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless 
soul, 
When Nature all is sad like me ! 
And maun I still on Menie doat, 
And bear the scorn that's in 
her e'e ? 
For its jet, jet black, an' its like 
a hawk. 
An' it winna let a body be ! 

HIGHLAND MARY.i 

Tune—" Katharine Ogie.^'' 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams 
around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your 
flowers. 

Your waters never drumlie ! 
There simmer first unf auld her robes 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green 
birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me, as light and life, 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

1 Concerning this song Burns wrote Mr. 
Thomson on the 14th November, 1792 :— 
"The foregoing song pleases myself; I 
think it is in my happiest manner : you 
will see at first glance that it suits the air. 
The subject of the song is one of the 
most interesting passages of my youthful 
days ; and I own that I should be much 
flattered to see the verses set to an air 
which would insure celebrity. Perhaps, 
after all, 'tis the still glowing prejudice 
of my heart that throws a borrowed lustre 
over the merits qI the composition." 



BANNOCKBURN. 



299 



Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd em- 
brace, 

Our parting was f u' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again. 

We tore oursels asunder ; 
But oh ! fell death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the 
clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
And closed for aye the sparkling 
glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mold'ring now in silent dust. 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly 1 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary, 

AULD LANG SYNE.i 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to min' ? 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days o' lang syne ? 

CHORUS. 

For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne, 
"We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet. 

For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae run about the braes. 

And pu'd the go wans fine ; 
But we've wander'd mony a weary 
foot 
Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, etc. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn. 
From morning sun till dine; 

But seas between us braid hae roar'd 
Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, etc. 

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, 
And gie's a hand o' thine ; 

' Burns stated, both to Mrs. Dunlop and 
Mr. Thomson, that Auld Lang Syne was 
old. It is, however, generally believed, that 
he was the entire, or almost the entire, 
author. In Pickering's edition the follow- 
ing variations are taken from a copy in 
the Poet's baud writing. 



And we'll tak a right guid willie- 
waught, 
For auld lang syne. 
For auld, etc. 

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, etc. 

BANNOCKBURN.' 

ROBERT BRUCE's ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. 

Tune—" Hey tuttie taitie.'" 

Scots, Avha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has af ten led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to glorious victorie. 

Now's the day, and now's the hour ; 
See the front o' battle lower ; 
See approach proud Edward's 
power — 
Edward ! chains and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's King and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 

^ In September, 1793, Burns sent this song 
to Mr. Thomson. "There is," he wrote, 
" a tradition, which I have met with in 
many places of Scotland, that it " (the 
old air Hey, tuttie taitie) " was Robert 
Bruce's march at the battle of Bannock- 
burn. This thought in my yesternight's 
evening walk warmed me to a pitch of en- 
thusiasm on the theme of Liberty and In 
dependence, which I threw into a kind of 
Scotch ode, fitted to the air, that one 
might suppose to be the gallant royal 
Scot's address to his heroic followers, on 
that eventful morning. So may God ever 
defend the cause of truth and liberty as 
He did that day. Amen." Mr. Thomson 
wrote suggesting alterations, and Burns 
replied :— " ' Who shall decide when doc- 
tors disagree?" My ode pleases me so 
much, that I cannot alter it. Your pro- 
posed alterations would, in my opinion, 
make it tame. I am exceedingly obliged 
to you for putting me on reconsidering 
it, as I think I have much improved it. . 
. . I have scrutinized it over and over ; 
and to the world, some way or other, i% 
shall go g,s it is," 



300 



FOR A* THAT AND A' THAT. 



Free -man stand, or free -man fa' ? 
Caledonian ! on wi' me! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall — they shall be free ! 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow ! 
Forward ! let us do, or die ! 



THE GALLANT WEAVER. 

Tune—" The auld wife ayont the fire.''' 

Where Cart rins rowin to the sea, 
By monie a flower and spreading 

tree, 
There lives a lad, the lad for me, 
He is a gallant weaver. 

Oh I had wooers aught or nine, 
They gied me rings and ribbons fine ; 
And I was fear'd my heart would 
tine. 
And I gied it to the weaver. 

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band. 
To gie the lad that has the land ; 
But to my heart I'll add my hand, 
And gie it to the weaver. 

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers; 
While bees rejoice in opening flow- 
ers; 
While corn grows green in simmer 
showers, 
I'll love my gallant weaver. 

SONG. 

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire. 
And waste my soul with care ; 

But ah ! how bootless to admire. 
When fated to despair ! 

Yet in thy presence, lovely fair, 
To hope may be forgiven ; 

For sure, 'twere impious to despair 
§p much in si^ht of heaven, 



FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.i 

Is there, for honest poverty. 

That hangs his head, and a' that? 
The coward -slave, we pass him by, 
We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a* that. 

Our toils obscure, and a' that; 
The rank is but the guinea stamp : 
The man's the gowd for a' 
that. 

What tho' on hamely fare we dine, 

Wear hodden -gray, and a' that; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves 
their wine, 
A man's a man for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinsel show, and a' that; 
The honest man, tho' e'er sae 
poor, 
Is King o' men for a* that. 

You see young birkie, ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 
He's but a coof for a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His ribbon, star, and a' that, 
The man of independent mind, 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
But an honest man's aboon his might, 
Guid faith he mauna fa' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their dignities, and a' that. 
The pith o' sense, and pride o' 

worth, 
Are higher rank than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may. 

As come it will for a' that ; 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the 
earth, 

1 In January, 1795, Burns wrote Mr. 
Thomson : — " A great critic (Aikin) on 
songs says that love and wine are the ex- 
chisive themes for song-writing. The 
following is on neither subject, and con 
sequently is no song ; but will be allowed 
I think, to be two or three pretty good 
I prose thoughts converted into rhym©." 



CLARINDA. 



301 



May bear the gree, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It's coming yet, for a' that, 
That man to man, the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 

DAINTY DAVIE. 1 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers. 
To deck her gay, green spreading 

bowers ; 
And now comes in my happy hours, 
To wander wi' my Davie. 



Meet me on the warlock knowe, 
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie, 

There I'll spend the day wi' you, 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 

The crystal waters round us fa', 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A wandering wi' my Davie. 

Meet me, etc. 

When purple morning starts the hare, 
To steal upon her early fare, 
Then through the dews I will repair, 
To meet my faithfu' Davie. 

Meet me, etc. 

When day, expiring in the west. 
The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, 
I flee to his arms I lo'e best, 
And that's my ain dear Davie. 

Meet me, etc. 

TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

Tune—" Tlie hopeless lover.'''' 
Now spring has clad the groves in 
green. 

And strew'd the lea wi' flowers; 
The furrow'd waving corn is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers; 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
O why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ! 

1 Of this song: Burns says :— " The title 
of the song only is old : the rest is mine." 
In Johnson's " Museum ' he published an 
early version, with the burden, " The gar- 
dener with his paidle." 



The trout within yon wimpling bum 

Glides swift, a silver dart, 
And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art : 
My life was once that careless stream, 

That wanton trout was I ; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam, 

Has scorch'd my fountain dry. 

The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, 

In yonder cliff that grows, 
Which, save the linnet's flight, I 
wot, 
Nae ruder visit knows. 
Was mine; till love has o'er me 
past, 
And blighted a' my bloom. 
And now beneath the withering 
blast 
My youth and joy consume. 

The waken'd lav'rock warbling 
springs. 

And climbs the early sky. 
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye ; 
As little reckt I sorrow's power, 

Until the flowery snare 
O' witching love in luckless hour. 

Made me the thrall o' care. 

O had my fate been Greenland's 
snows 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes, 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, "Hope 
nae mair ! " 

What tongue his woes can tell ! 
Within whose bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell. 

CLARINDA. 

Clarinda, mistress of my soul. 
The measur'd time is run ! 

The wretch beneath the dreary pole 
So marks his latest sun. 

To what dark cave of frozen night 
Shall poor Sylvander liie ; 

Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, 
The sun of all his joy ? 



302 



CALEDONIA. 



We part — but by these precious 
drops 
That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
No other light shall guide my 
steps 
Till thy bright beams arise. 

She, the fair sun of all her sex, 
Has blest my glorious day : 

And shall a glimmering planet 
fix 
My worship to its ray ? 



WHY, WHY TELL THY 
LOYER. 

Tune—" Caledonian HunVs delight.'' 
Why, why tell thy lover. 

Bliss he never must enjoy ? 
Why, why undeceive him. 

And give all his hopes the lie ? 

O why, while fancy, rapturd, 
slumbers 

Chloris, Chloris all the theme ! 
Why, why wouldst thou, cruel. 

Wake thy lover from his dream ? 



CALEDONIA. 

Tune—" Caledonian Hunt's delighty 

There was once a day, but old Time then was young, 

That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line. 
From some of your northern deities sprung : 

(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine ?) 
From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, 

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would : 
Her heavenly relations there fixed her reign, 

And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good. 

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, 

The pride of her kindred the heroine grew ; 
Her grandsire, old Odin triumphantly swore, 

" Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue I 
With tillage or pasture at times she would sport. 

To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn : 
But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort. 

Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn. 

Long quiet she reign'd ; till thitherward steers 

A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand ; 
Repeated, successive, for many long years, 

They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land. 
Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, 

They conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside ; 
She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly, 

The daring invaders they fled or they died. 

The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north, 

The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore; 
The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd forth 

To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore: 
O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd. 

No arts could appease them, no arms could repel; 
But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd, 

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell. 



ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR. 



303 



The Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose, 

With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife; 
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose. 

And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life: 
The Anglian lion, the terror of France, 

Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood' 
But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, 

He learned to fear in his own native wood. 

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, 

Her bright course of glory forever shall run: 
For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; 

I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun: 
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll choose. 

The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; 
But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse ; 

Then ergo, she'll match them, and match them always 



ON THE BATTLE OF 
SHERIFF-MUIK» 

BETWEEN THE DUKR OP ARGYLE AND THE 
EARL OF MAR. 

Tune—" The Cameronian ranf^ 

" O CAM ye here the fight to shun, 
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? 
Or were you at the Sherra-muir, 
And did the battle see, man ? " 
I saw the battle, sair and teugh. 
And reeking-red ran monie a sheugh. 
My heart, for fear, gae sough for 

sough, 
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds 
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds, 
Wha glaum'd at Kingdoms three, 
man. 

The red-coat lads, wi' black cock- 
ades, 
To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
They rush'd and push'd, and blude 
outgush'd, 
And monie a bouk did fa', man: 
And great Argyle led on his files, 
I wat they glanced twenty miles: 
They hack'd and hash'd, while broad- 
swords clash'd. 
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and 
smash'd. 
Till fey men died awa, man. 



But had you seen the philibegs. 

And skyrin tartan trews, man. 
When in the teeth they dar'd our 
whigs. 
And covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines extended laug and large. 
When bayonets oppos'd the targe. 
And thousands hasten'd to the 

charge, 
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the 

sheath 
Drew blades o' death, till, out of 
breath. 
They fled like frighted doos, man. 

" O how deil, Tam, can that be true ? 
The chase gaed frae the north, 
man : 
I saw mysel, they did pursue 

The horsemen back to Forth, man; 
And at Dumblane, in my ain sight. 
They took the brig wi' a' their 

might, 
And straught to Stirling wing'd 

their flight ; 
But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut, 
An(l monie a liuntit, poor red-coat, 
For fear amaist did swarf, man." 

My sister Kate came up the gate 
Wi' crowdie unto me, man ; 

She swore she saw some rebels run 
Frae Perth unto Dundee, man: 



1 Gilbert Burns did not consider his brother the author of this song. 



304 



O WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME ? 



Their left-hand general had nae skill, 
The Angus lads had nae guid-will, 
That day their neebors' blood to spill ; 
For fear, by foes, that they should 

lose 
Their cogs o' brose ; all crying woes. 
And so it goes, you see, man. 

They've lost some gallant gentlemen 
Amang the Highland clans, man ; 
I fear my lord Panmure is slain. 

Or fallen in whiggish hands, man : 
Now wad ye sing this double fight, 
Some fell for wrang. and some for 

right ; 
But monie bade the world guid- 

night ; 
Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, 
By red claymores, and muskets' knell, 
Wi' dying yell, the tories fell. 
And whigs to hell did flee, man. 

THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.^ 

Tune— "Ptts7i about the jonun.''' 

April, 1795. 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 

Then let the loons beware, Sir, 
There's wooden walls upon our seas, 

And volunteers on shore, Sir. 
The Nith shall run to Corsincon, 

And Criifel sink to Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 

Fal de ral, etc. 

O let us not like snarling tykes 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till, slap, come in an unco loon 

And wi' a rung decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted ! 
Fal de ral, etc. 

The kettle o' the kirk and state, 
Perhaps a claut may fail in't ; 

But deil a foreign tinkler loon 
Shall ever ca' a nail in't. 

Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought, 
And wha wad dare to spoil it ; 

^ This song, which became immensely 
popular at the time, was published in 
the Dumfries Joixrnal, 5th May, 1795. 



By heaven, the sacrilegious dog 
Shall fuel be to boil it. 

Fal de ral, etc. 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 
And the wretch his true-born 
brother. 
Who would set the mob aboon the 
throne, 
May they be damned together ! 
Who will not sing, "God save the 
King," 
Shall hang as high's the steeple ; 
But while we sing, " God save the 
King," 
We'll ne'er forget the People. 

O WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES 
ME? 

Tune— " Moragr." 

O WHA is she that lo'es me, 
And has my heart a-keeping ? 

O sweet is she that lo'es me, 
As dews o' simmer weeping. 
In tears the rose-buds steeping. 

CHORUS. 

O that's the lassie o' my heart, 

My lassie ever dearer ; 
O that's the queen o' womankind, 

And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

If thou shalt meet a lassie. 

In grace and beauty charming, 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 
Erewhile thy breast sae warming, 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming ; 
O that's, etc. 

If thou hadst heard her talking, 
And thy attentions plighted, 

That ilka body talking, 
But her by thee is slighted, 
And thou art all delighted ; 
O that's, etc. 

If thou hast met this fair one, 
When frae her thou hast parted, 

If every other fair one, 
But her, thou hast deserted. 
And thou art broken-hearted ; 
O that's, etc. 



O, ONCE I LOVED A BONNIE LASS. 



305 



CAPTAIN GROSE.i 

Tune—" Sir John Malcolm,'''' 
Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose ? 

Igo, and ago, 
If he's amang his friends or foes ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he South, or is he North ? 

Igo, and ago. 
Or drowned in the river Forth ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he slain by Highland bodies ? 

Igo, and ago, 
And eaten like a wether-haggis ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he to Abram's bosom gane ? 

Igo, and ago. 
Or haudin Sarah by the wame ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him ! 

Igo, and ago. 
As for the deil, he daur na steer him, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

But please transmit th' enclosed 
letter, 
Igo, and ago. 
Which will oblige your humble 
debtor. 
Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 

Igo, and ago. 
The very stanes that Adam bore. 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye get in glad possession, 

Igo, and ago. 
The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 

Iram, coram, dago. 

WHISTLE OWRE THE 
LAVE O'T. 

FniST when Maggy was my care, 
Heaven, I thought, w^as in her air ; 
Now we're married — spier nae mair — 
Whistle owre the lave o't. 

^ This was written in an envelope to 
Mr. Cardonuel, the antiquary, enclosing 
J letter to Captain Grose. 



Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Bonnie Meg was nature's child — 
Wiser men than me's beguil'd ; — 
Whistle owre the lave o't. 

How we live, my Meg and me, 
How we love and how we 'gree, 
I care na by how few may see — 
Whistle owre the lave o't. 

Wha I wish were maggots' meat, 
Dish'd up in her winding sheet, 
I could write — but Meg maun see't — 
Whistle owre the lave o't. 



O, ONCE I LOV'D A BONNIE 

LASS. 

Tune—" I am a Man unmarried.'''' 

O, ONCE I lov'd a bonnie lass. 

Ay, and I love her still. 
And whilst that virtue warms my 
breast 
I'll love my handsome Nell. 

Fal lal de ral, etc. 

As bonnie lasses I hae seen, 

And monie full as braw. 
But for a modest gracefu' mien 

The like I never saw. 

A bonnie lass, I will confess 

Is pleasant to the ee, 
But without some better qualities 

She's no a lass for me. 

But Nelly's looks are blithe and 
sweet, 

And what is best of a', 
Her reputation is complete. 

And fair without a flaw. 

She dresses aye sae clean and neat, 

Both decent and genteel : 
And then there's something in her 
gait 

Gars onie dress look weel. 

A gaudy dress and gentle air 
May slightly touch the heart, 

But it's innocence and modesty 
That polishes the dart. 



3o6 



THE DEAN OF FACULTY. 



'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 
'Tis this enchants my soul ! 

For absolutely in my breast 
She reigns without control. 

Fal lal de ral, etc. 

YOUNG JOCKEY. 

Young Jockey was the blithest lad 

In a' our town or here awa ; 
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud, 

Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha' ! 
He roos'd my een sae bonnie blue, 

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma' ; 
An' aye my heart came to my mou. 

When neer a body heard or saw. 

My Jockey toils upon the plain, 

Thro' wind and weed, thro' frost 
and snaw ; 
And o'er the lea I look fu' fain 

When Jockey's owsen hameward 
ca'. 
An' aye the night comes round again. 

When in his arms he takes me a' ; 
An' aye he vows he'll be my ain 

As lang's he has a breath to draw. 

M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL.i 

Fakewell, ye dungeons dark and 
strong, 

The wretch's destinie : 
M'Pherson's time will not be long 

On yonder gallows tree. 

CHORUS. 

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 
Sae dauntingly gaed he ; 

1 M'Pherson was a Highland freebooter, 
of great personal strength and musical 
taste and accomplishment. While lying 
in prison under sentence of death, he com- 
posed his Farewell, words and air, the for- 
mer of which began : — 

"I've spent my time in rioting, 

Debauch'd my health and strength; 
I squandered fast as pillage came, 
And fell to shame at length. 
But dantonly and wantonly 
And rantonly V\\ gae : 
I'll play a tune and dance it roun' 
Beneath the gallows' tree." 

When brought to the gallows' foot at 
Banff, he played his Farewell, and then 
broke his violin across his knee. His 
sword is preserved at Duff House. 



He play'd a spring and danc'd it 
round, 
Below the gallows tree. 

Oh, what is death but parting 
breath ?— 
On monie a bloody plain 
I've dar'd his face, and in this place 
I scorn him yet again ! 

Sae rantingly, etc. 

Untie these bands from off my hands, 
And bring to me my sword ! 

And there's no a man in all Scotland, 
But I'll brave him at a word. 
Sae rantingly, etc. 

I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife ; 

I die by treacherie : 
It burns my heart I must depart 

And not avenged be. 

Sae rantingly, etc. 

Now farewell light, thou sunshine 
bright. 
And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame disdain his name, 
The wretch that dares not die ! 
Sae rantingly, etc, 

THE DEAN OF FACULTY. ^ 

A NEW BALLAD. 
Tune—" Tlie Dragon of Wantley.^'' 

Dire was the hate at old Harlaw 

That Scot to Scot did carry ; 
And dire the discord Langside saw, 

For beauteous, hapless Mary : 
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot. 

Or were more in fury seen, Sir, 
Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the 
famous job — 

Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir. 

This Hal for genius, wit, and lore. 
Among the first was number'd ; 

But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store. 
Commandment the tenth remem- 
ber'd. 

^ This ballad refers to the contest be 
tween Mr. Erskine and Mr. Dundas for the 
Deanship of the Faculty of Advocates. On 
the 12th January, 1796, Mr. Dundas was 
elected by a large majority. 



ON CESSNOCK BANKS. 



307 



Yet simple Bob the victory got, 
And won his heart's desire ; 

Which shows that heaven can boil 
the pot, 
Though the devil p — in the fire. 

Squire Hal besides had, in this case, 

Pretensions rather brassy, 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy ; 
So their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness. 
Chose one who should owe it all, 
d'ye see, 

To their gratis grace and goodness. 

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the 
sight 

Of a son of Circumcision, 
So may be, on the Pisgah height, 

Bob's purblind, mental vision ; 
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd 

yet, 

Till for eloquence you hail him, 
And swear he has the Angel met 
That met the Ass of Balaam. 

In your heretic sins may ye live and 
die, 
Ye heretic eight and thirty ! 
But accept, ye sublime Majority, 

My congratulations hearty. 
With your Honors and a certain King 
I In your servants this is striking — 
j The more incapacity they bring, 
The more they're to your liking. 

I'LL AYE C A' IN BY YON TOWN. 

I'll aye ca' in by yon town, 

I And by yon garden green again ; 
( I'll aye ca' in by yon town, 

And see my bonnie Jean again. 

There's nane sail ken, there's nane 
sail guess. 
What brings me back the gate 
I again, 

I But she, my fairest faithfu' lass, 
And stownlins we sail meet again. 

She'll wander by the aiken tree 
When trystin-time draws near 
again ; 



And when her lovely form I see, 

haith, she's doubly dear again ! 

A BOTTLE AND FRIEND. 

Here's a bottle and an honest friend ! 

What wad ye wish foi mair, man? 
Wha kens, before his life may end. 

What his share may be o' care, man? 
Then catch the moments as they fly, 

And use them as ye ought, man : — 
Believe me, happiness is shy. 

And comes not aye when sought, 
man. 

I'LL KISS THEE YET. 

Tune — " The Braes o' Balquhiddery 
CHORUS. 

I'll kiss thee yet, yet. 

And I'll kiss thee o'er again. 
An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet. 

My bonnie Peggy Alison ! 

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, 

1 ever mair defy them, O ; 
Young Kings upon their hansel 

throne 
Are no sae blest as I am, O ! 
I'll kiss thee, etc. 

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
I clasp my countless treasure, O ; 

I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share. 
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O ! 
I'll kiss thee, etc. 

And by thy een sae bonnie blue, 
I swear I'm thine forever, O ; — 

And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
And break it shall I never, O ! 
I'll kiss thee, etc. 



ON CESSNOCK BANKS. 

Tune— " jy /le be a Butcher neat and trim.'''' 

On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells; 

Could I describe her shape and 
mien ; 
Our lasses a' she far excels, 

An' she has twa sparkling roguish 



3o8 



PRAYER FOR MARY. 



She's sweeter than the morning dawn 
When rising Phoebus first is seen, 

And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish 
een. 

She's stately like yon youthful ash 
That grows the cowslip braes be- 
tween, 
And drinks the stream with vigor 
fresh ; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish 



She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn 
With flow'rs so white and leaves so 
green. 
When purest in the dewy morn ; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish 
een. 

Her looks are like the vernal May, 
When ev'ning Phoebus shines 
serene, 
While birds rejoice on every spray; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish 
een. 

Her hair is like the curling mist 
That climbs the mountain-sides at 
e'en. 
When flow'r-reviving rains are past; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish 
een. 

Her forehead's like the show'ry bow, 
When gleaming sunbeams inter- 
vene 
And gild the distant mountain's 
brow; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish 
een. 

Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem, 
The pride of all the flowery scene, 

Just opening on its thorny stem ; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish 
een. 

Her teeth are like the nightly snow 

When pale the morning rises keen. 

While hid the murmuring streamlets 

flow; 

An' she has twa sparkling roguish 

een. 



Her lips are like yon cherries ripe, 
That sunny walls from Boreas 
screen ; 
They tempt the taste and charm the 
sight ; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish 
een. 

Her teeth are like a flock of sheep, 
With fleeces newly washen clean, 

That slowly mount the rising steep : 
An' she has twa glancin' sparklin' 



Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
That gently stirs the blossom'd 
bean. 

When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish 



Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush 
That sings on Cessnock banks un- 
seen. 
While his mate sits nestling in the 
bush ; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish 
een. 

But it's not her air, her form, her 
face, 
Tho' matching beauty's fabled 
queen, 
'Tis the mind that shines in ev'ry 
grace, 
An' chiefly in her roguish een. 

PRAYER FOR MARY. 

Tune—" Blue Bonnets.'''' 

Powers celestial, whose protection 

Ever guards the virtuous fair, 
While in distant climes I wander, 

Let my Mary be your care : 
Let her form sae fair and faultless, 

Fair and faultless as your own ; 
Let my Mary's kindred spirit 

Draw your choicest influence 
down. 

Make the gales you waft around her 
Soft and peaceful as her breast ; 

Breathing in the breeze that fans her, 
Soothe her bosom into rest ; 



there'll never be peace till JAMIE COMES HOME. 309 



Guardian angels, O protect her, 
When in distant lands I roam ; 

To realms unknown while fate exiles 
me. 
Make her bosom still my home. 

YOUNG PEGGY. 

Tune—" Last time I cam o'er the Muir.'''' 
Young Peggy blooms our bonniest 
lass, 

Her blush is like the morning, 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass, 

With early gems adorning : 
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 

That gild the passing shower. 
And glitter o'er the crystal streams, 

And cheer each fresh'ning flower. 

Her lips more than the cherries 
bright, 
A richer dye has grac'd them ; 
They charm th' admiring gazer's 
sight, 
And sweetly tempt to taste them : 



Her smile is as the ev'ning mild, 
When feather'd pairs are courting, 

And little lambkins wanton wild, 
In playful bands disporting. 

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 

Such sweetness would relent her. 
As blooming Spring unbends the 
brow 

Of surly, savage Winter. 
Distraction's eye no aim can gain 

Her winning powers to lessen; 
And fretful Envy grins in vain. 

The poison'd tooth to fasten. 

Ye Pow'rs of Honor, Love, and 
Truth, 

From ev'ry ill defend her ; 
Inspire the highly favor'd youth 

The destinies intend her ; 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame 

Responsive in each bosom ; 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom. 



THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME.i 

A SONG. 

By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, 
I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was gray : 
And as he was singing, the tears fast down came — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

The church is in ruins, the state is in jars. 
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars; 
We dare na weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword. 
And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd; 
It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

Now life is a burden that bows me down, 
Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown ; 
But till my last moment my words are the same — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

1 On 12th March, 1791, Burns wrote to Mr. Thomson :— " Lest I sink into stupid prose, 
and so sacrilegiously intrude on the office of my parish priest, 1 shall fill up the page 
in my own way, and give you another song of my late composition. . . . You must 
know a beautiful Jacobite air, There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. When 

Eolitical combustion ceases to be the object of princes and patriots, it then, you know, 
ecomes the law&ul nrey of historians and poe^as "" 



310 



MARY MORISON. 



THERE WAS A LAD.^ 

Tune—" Dainty Davie.'''' 
There was a lad was born in Kyle, 
But what'n a day o' wbat'n a style 
I doubt it's hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Robin. 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin' ; 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin. 

Our monarch's hindmost year but 

ane 
Was five-and-twenty days begun, 
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win' 
Blew hansel in on Robin. 

The gossip keekit in his loof. 

Quo' scho wha lives will see the 

proof, 
Tliis waly boy will be nae coof, 
I think we'll ca' him Robin. 

He'll hae misfortunes great and sma', 
But aye a heart aboon them a' ; 
He'll be a credit till us a', 
We'll a' be proud o' Robin. 

But sure as three times three mak 

nine 
I see by ilka score and line, 
This chap will dearly like our kin', 
So leeze me on thee, Robin. 

Guid faith, quo' scho, I doubt you, 

Sir, ^ 

Ye gar the lassies lie aspar. 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur 
So blessings on thee, Robin ! 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 
Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin'; 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin. 

TO MARY. 

Tune—" Ewe-hughts, Marion.'''' 
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary 

x\.nd leave auld Scotia's shore ? 
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 

Across the Atlantic's roar ? 

I Jan. 25th, 1759, the date of my bard 
^ip's vital exi£!tence. R. B, 



sweet grows the lime and the 

orange 
And the apple on the pine ; 
But a' the charms o' the Indies 
Can never equal thine. 

1 hae sworn by the Heavens to mj 

Mary, 
I hae sworn by the Heavens to be 
true ; 
And sae may the Heavens forget me, 
When I forget my vow ! 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
And plight me your lily-white 
hand ; 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
Before I leave Scotia's strand. 

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 
In mutual affection to join, 

And curst be the cause that shall part 
us! 
The hour, and the moment o' time ! 

MARY MORISON.i 

Tune—" Bide ye yet.''"' 

Mary, at thy window be, 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see. 

That makes the miser's treasure 
poor ; 
How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 

A weary slave f rae sun to sun ; 
Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen, when to the trembling 
string, 
The dance gaed thro' the lighted 
ha'. 
To thee my fancy took its wing, 

I sat, but neither heard or saw : 
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw. 
And yon the toast of a' the town, 

1 sigh'd, and said amang them a', 

" Ye are na Mary Morison." 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? 

1 On 20th March, 1793, Burns wrote Mr. 
Thomson :— " This song is one of my 
juvenile works. I do not think it very re- 
markable, either for its merits or demerits. 



MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 



311 



Or canst tliou break that heart of his, 
Whase only faut is loving thee? 

If love for love thou wilt na gie, 
At least he pity to me shown ! 

A thought ungentle canna be 
The thought o' Mary Morison. 

THE SODGER'S RETURN. 

Tune—" The Mill Mill O." 
When wild war's deadly blast was 
blawn, 

And gentle peace returning, 
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless. 

And mony a widow mourning: 
I left the lines and tented field. 

Where lang I'd been a lodger. 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 

A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal, light heart was in mj'' breast. 

My hand unstain'd wi' plunder; 
And for fair Scotia, hame again 

I cheery on did wander. 
I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reach'd the bonnie glen. 

Where early life I sported ; 
I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn. 

Where Nancy aft I courted : 
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
And turn'd me round to hide the flood 

That in my een was swelling. 

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, Sweet lass. 

Sweet as yon hawthorn blossom, 
' O ! happy, happy may he be. 
That's dearest to thy bosom ! 



My purse is light, I've far to gang, 
And fain wad be thy lodger; 

I've serv'd my King and Country lang 
Take pity on a sodger ! 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, 

And lovelier was than ever : 
Quo' she, A sodger ance I lo'ed, 

Forget him shall I never : 
Our humble cot, and hamely fare, 

Ye freely shall partake it. 
That gallant badge, the dear cockade, 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't. 

She gaz'd — she redden'd like a rose, 

Syne pale like onie lily ; 
She sank within my arms, and cried, 

Art thou my ain dear Willie ? 
By Him who made yon sun and sky, 

By whom true love's regarded, 
I am the man ; and thus may still 

True lovers be rewarded ! 

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, 

And find thee still true-hearted ; 
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love. 

And mair we'se ne'er be parted. 
Quo' she, My grandsire lef t me gowd, 

A mailen plenish'd fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! 

For gold the merchant ploughs the 
main. 

The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
But glory is the sodger's prize ; 

The sodger's wealth is honor : 
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise, 

Nor count him as a stranger, 
Remember he's his Country's stay 

In day and hour o' danger. 



MY FATHER WAS A. FARMER. 1 

Tune—" The Weaver and his Shuttle, O." 

My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick border, O 

And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O 

He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, O 

For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O. 

^ Concerning this song Burns writes :— "The following song is a wild rhapsody, mis- 
erably deficient in versification ; but as the sentiments are the genuine feelings of my 
iieart, for that reason I have a particular pleasure iu conning it over," 



312 A mother's lament for the death of her son. 

Then out into the world my course I did determine, O 
Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, O 
My talents they were not the worst : nor yet my education, O 
Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my situation, O. 

In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's favor ; O 
Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavor, O 
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd ; sometimes by friends forsaken ; O 
And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O. 

Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with fortune's vain delusion ; O 
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion ; O 
The past was bad, and the future hid ; its good or ill untried ; O 
But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, O. 

No help, nor hope, nor view had I ; nor person to befriend me ; O 
So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labor to sustain me, O 
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early ; O 
For one, he said, to labor bred, was a match for fortune fairly, O. 

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O 
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber ; O 
No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow ; O 
I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow, O. 

But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in a palace, O 

Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice ; O 

I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther ; O 

But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O. 

When sometimes by my labor I earn a little money, O 
Some unforseen misfortune comes generally upon me ; O 
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd folly ; O 
But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O. 

All you who follow wealth and power, with unremitting ardor, O 
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther; O 
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O 
A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O. 



A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR 
THE DEATH OF HER SON.' 

Tune — " Finlayston House.'''' 
Fate gave the word, the arrow 
sped. 
And pierc'd my darling's heart; 
And with him all the joys are' fled 

Life can to me impart ! 
By cruel hands the sapling drops, 
In dust dishonor'd laid : 



So fell the pride of all my hopes, 
My age's future shade. 

The mother-linnet in the brake 

Bewails her ravish'd young ; 
So I, for my lost darling's sake. 

Lament the live-day long. 
Death, oft I've feared thy fatal blow, 

Now, fond, I bare my breast, 
O, do thou kindly lay me low 

With him I love, at rest ! 



J Composed on the death of James Fergusson, Esq., Younger, of Craigdarroch. 



ON SENSIBILITY. 



313 



BONNIE LESLEY.i 

Tune—" The Collier'' s honnie Dochter.''^ 

O SAW ye bonnie Lesley 
As she gaed o'er the border ? 

She's game, like Alexander, 
To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her, 
And love but her forever; 

For Nature made iier what she is, 
And ne'er made sic anither ! 

Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley, 
Thy subjects we, before thee: 

Thou art divine, Fair Lesley, 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The Deil he could na scaith thee, 
Or aught that wad belang thee ; 

He'd look into thy bonnie face, 
And say, " I canna wrang thee." 

The Powers aboon will tent thee ; 

Misfortune sha'na steer thee ; 
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, Fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonnie. 

AMANG THE TREES. 

Tune—" The King of France, he rode a 
race.'''' 

Amang the trees where humming 
bees 
At buds and flowers were hing- 
ing, O 
Auld Caledon drew out her drone. 
And to her pipe was singing ; O 
'Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspey, or 
Reels, 
She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O 
When there cam a yell o' foreign 
\ squeels. 

That dang her tapsalteerie, O. 

i 1 " Bonnie Lesley " was Miss Lesley 
Bailie, daughter of Mr. Bailie, of Ayrshire, 
Mr. Bailie, on his way to England with 
his two daughters, called on Burns at 
Dumfries. Burns mounted, accompanied 
them fifteen miles, and composed the song 
fts he rode honjeward. 



Their capon craws and queer ha ha's, 

They made our lugs grow eerie ; O 
The hungry bike did scrape and pike 

Till we were wae and wearie : O — 
But a royal ghaist wha ance was 
cas'd 

A prisoner aughteen year awa, 
He fir'd a tiddler in the north 

That dang them tapsalteerie, 0. 



WHEN FIRST I CAME TO 
STEWART KYLE.i 



TUNE- 



' I had a horse and I had nae 
mair.^'' 



When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it was na steady. 
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade, 

A mistress still I had aye : 
But when I came roun' by Mauch- 
line town, 

Not dreadin' onie body. 
My heart was caught before 1 
thought, 

And by a Mauchline lady. 



ON SENSIBILITY. 

TO MY DEAR AND MUCH HONORED FRIEND, 
MRS. DUNLOP, OP DUNLOP. 

Air — " Sensibility.'''' 

Sensebility, how charming. 
Thou, my friend, canst truly tell; 

But distress, with horrors arming. 
Thou hast also known too well ! 

Fairest flower, behold the lily, 
Blooming in the sunny ray : 

Let the blast sweep o'er the valley. 
See it prostrate on the clay. 

Hear the wood-lark charm the forest, 
Telling o'er his little jo3's; 

Hapless bird ! a prey the surest 
To each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought the hidden treasure 
Finer feelings can bestow ; 

Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure 
Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 

^ Jean Armour is the " Mauchline lady ** 
referred to. 



SH 



EVAN BANKS. 



MONTGOMERIE'S PEGGY.i 

Tune—" Galla Water/'' 
Altho' my bed were in yon muir, 

Amang the heather, in my plaidie, 
Yet happy, happy would I be, 
Had I my dear Montgomerie's 
Peggy. 

When o'er the hill beat surly storms. 
And winter nights were dark and 
rainy, 
I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 
I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's 
Peggy. 

Were I a Baron proud and high. 
And horse and servants waiting 
ready. 
Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me, 
The sharin't wi' Montgomerie's 
Peggy. 



ON A BANK OF FLOWERS. 

On a bank of flowers, in a summer 
day, 

For summer lightl}^ drest. 
The youthful blooming Nelly lay. 

With love and sleep opprest ; 

When Willie, wand'ring thro' the 

wood. 
Who for her favor oft had sued ; 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he 

blush'd. 
And trembled where he stood. 

Her closed eyes, like weapons 
sheath'd. 

Were seal'd in soft repose ; 
Her lips, still as she fragrant breath'd, 

It richer dy'd the rose. 

The springing lilies sweetly prest. 
Wild-wanton kiss'd her rival breast ; 

* " My Montgomerie's Peggy," writes 
Burns ' ' was my deity for six or eight 
months. ... A vanity of showing my 
parts in courtship, particularly my abili- 
ties at a billet-doux, which I always piqued 
myself upon, made me lay siege to her." 
Burns, after he had warmed into a pas- 
sion for Peggy, found that she was pre- 
engaged, and confessed that it cost him 
gome heartaches to get rid of the affair. 



He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he 
blush'd. 
His bosom ill at rest. 

Her robes, light waving in the 
breeze. 

Her tender limbs embrace ! 
Her lovely form, her native ease, 

All harmony and grace ! 

Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 
A faltering ardent kiss he stole ; 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he 
blush'd. 
And sigh'd his very soul. 

As flies the partridge from the brake 

On fear-inspired wings; 
So Nelly, starting, half awake. 

Away affrighted springs : 

But Willie follow'd — as he should, 
He overtook her in the wood : 
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the 
maid 
Forgiving all, and good. 

O RAGING FORTUNE'S 
AVITHERING BLAST. 

O RAGING fortune's withering blast 
Has laid my leaf full low ! O 

O raging fortune's withering blast 
Has laid my leaf full low ! O 

My stem was fair, my bud was green, 
My blossom sweet did blow ; O 

The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild. 
And made my branches grow ; O 

But luckless fortune's northern 
storms 
Laid a' my blossoms low, O 
But luckless fortune's northern 
storms 
Laid a' my blossoms low, O. 

EVAN BANKS. 1 
Tune— '• fifaroitma DeZtsTi." 
Slow spreads the gloom my soul 

desires. 
The sun from India's shore retires : 

' Dr. Currie inserted this in his first 
edition, but withdrew it on finding it 
was the composition of Helen Maria Wil- 
liams. Burns had copied it : his MS. is 
now in the British Museum. 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 



315 



To Evan Banks with temp'rate ray, 
Home of my youth, he leads the day. 

Oh Banks to me forever dear 1 

Oh stream, whose murmur still I 

hear ! 
All, all my hopes of bliss reside 
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde 

And she, in simple beauty drest, 
Whose image lives within my breast ; 
Who trembling heard my parting 

sigh, 
And long pursued me with her eye : 

Does she, with heart unchang'd as 

mine, 
Oft in the vocal bowers recline ? 
Or, where yon grot o'erhangs the tide. 
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde? 

Ye lofty Banks that Evan bound. 
Ye lavish woods that wave around. 
And o'er the stream your shadows 

throw, 
Which sweetly winds so far below ; 

What secret charm to mem'ry brings, 
All that on Evan's border springs! 
Sweet Banks ! ye bloom by Mary's 

side : 
Blest stream ! she views thee haste to 

Clyde. 

Can all the wealth of India's coast 
Atone for years in absence lost ! 
Return, ye moments of delight, 
With richer treasures bless my sight ! 

Swift from this desert let me part, 
A.nd fly to meet a kindred heart ! 
No more may aught my steps divide 
From that dear stream which flows to 
Clyde I 



WOMEN'S MINDS. 

Tune— "iTbr a' that.''' 



Tho' 



women's minds like winter 

winds 
May shift and turn, and a' that. 
The noblest breast adores them maist, 
A consequence I draw that. 



For a' that, and a' that, 
And twice as meikle's a' that. 

The bonnic lass that I loe best 
She'll be my ain for a' that. 

Great love I bear to all the fair, 
Their humble slave, and a' that; 

But lordly will, I hold it still 
A mortal sin to thraw that. 
For a' that, etc. 

But there is ane aboon the lave, 
Has wit, and sense, and a' that ; 

A bonnie lass, I like her best. 
And wha a crime dare ca' that ? 
For a' that, etc. 

In rapture sweet this hour we meet, 
Wi' mutual love and a' that ; 

But for how lang the flie may stang, 
Let inclination law that. 
For a' that, etc. 

Their tricks and craft hae put me daft, 

They've ta'en me in, and a' that ; 
But clear your decks, and here's 
"The Sex!" 
I like the jades for a' that. 
For a' that, etc. 

TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 1 

Tune— "ilfiss Forbes' faretcell to Banff."" 
Thou lingering star, with less'ning 
ray, 

That lov'st to greet the early morn. 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend 
his breast ? 

That sacred hour can I forget ? 

Can I forget the hallow'd grove. 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one da}^ of parting love ? 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports 
past; 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah! little thought we 'twas our 
last ! 

» This sons was written on one of the 
anniversaries of Highlana Mary's Ueath. 



3i6 



ADDRESS TO GENERAL DUMOURIER. 



Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, 
O'erhung with wild woods, thick- 
'ning green; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn 
hoar, 
Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd 
scene. 
The flowers sprang wanton to be 
prest, 
The birds sang love on ev'ry spray, 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 
Proclaim'd the speed of winged 
day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry 
wakes, 
And fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but the impression deeper 
makes. 
As streams their channels deeper 
wear. 
My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy blissful place of rest? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? 
Hear'st thou the groans that rend 
his breast? 

TO MARY. 

Could aught of song declare my 
pains, 
Could artful numbers move thee, 
The Muse should tell, in labor'd 
strains, 
O Mary, how I love thee ! 

They who but feign a wounded heart 
May teach the 13're to languish ; 

But what avails the pride of art, 
When wastes the soul with an- 
guish? 

Then let the sudden bursting sigh 
The heart-felt pang discover; 

And in the keen, yet tender eye, 
O read th' imploring lover! 

For well I know thy gentle mind 
Disdains art's gay disguising ; 

Beyond what fancy e'er refin'd. 
The voice of nature prizing. 

O LEAVE NOVELS. 

O LEAVE novels, ye Mauchline belles, 
Ye're safer at your spinning wheel ; 



Such witching books are baited hooks 
For rakish rooks, like Rob Moss- 
gieL 

Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 
They make your youthful fancies 
reel. 
They heat your brains, and fire your 
veins, 
And then you're prey for Rob 
Mossgiel. 

Beware a tongue that's smoothly 
hung; 

A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
That feeling heart but acts a part, 

'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 

The frank address, the soft caress, 
Are worse than poison'd darts of 
steel. 

The frank address, and politesse, 
Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 

ADDRESS TO GENERAL 
DUMOURIER. 1 

A PARODY ON ROBIN ADAIR. 

You're welcome to Despots, Du- 

mourier ; 
You're welcome to Despots, Du- 

mourier ; 
How does Dampier do? 
Aye, and Bournonville too? 
Why did they not come along with 

you, Dumourier? 

I will fight France with you, Dumou- 
rier ; 

I will fight France with you, Dumou- 
rier ; 

I will fight France with you, 

I will take my chance with you ; 

By my soul I'll dance a dance with 
3^ou, Dumourier. 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier; 
Then let us fight about, Dumourier; 
Then let us fight about. 
Till freedom's spark is out, 
Then we'll be damn'd no doubt — Du- 
mourier. 

1 Burns chanted these verses on hepr- 
iug some one express his joy at Genei i^ 
Dumourier's defection from the serv 
of the French Republic. 



THE chevalier's LAMENT. 



317 



SWEETEST MAY. 

Sweetest May, let love inspire 

thee; 
Take a heart which he designs 

thee; 
As thy constant slave regard it* 
For its faith and truth reward it. 

Proof o' shot to birth or money, 
Not the wealthy, but the bonnie ; 
Not high-born, but noble-minded, 
In love's silken band can bind it ! 



ONE NIGHT AS I DID 
WANDER. 

Tune—'* John Anderson my Jo.* 
One night as I did wander. 

When corn begins to shoot, 
I sat me down to ponder, 

Upon an auld tree root: 

Auld Ayr ran by before me. 
And bicker'd to the seas; 

A cushat crooded o'er me 
That echoed thro' the braes. 



THE WINTER IT IS PAST. 



A FRAGMENT. 



The winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last, 
And the small birds sing on every tree ; 

Now everything is glad, while I am very sad. 
Since my true love is parted from me. 

The rose upon the brier by the waters running clear, 
May have charms for the linnet or the bee ; 

Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest. 
But my true love is parted from me. 

FRAGMENT. 



Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
Adown her neck and bosom hing ; 

How sweet unto that breast to cling, 
And round that neck entwine her ! 



Her lips are roses wet wi' dew ! 

O, what a feast her bonnie mou ; 
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 

A crimson still diviner! 



THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 

Tune—" Captain O'Kean.'" 

The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning. 
The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale ; 

The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning. 
And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale : 

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 
While the lingering moments are number'd by care ? 

No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, 
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. 

The deed that I dar'd could it merit their malice, 
A King or a Father to place on his throne? 

His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys. 
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none. 

But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn. 
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn: 

Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial, 
Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return ? 



3i8 



THE TARBOLTON LASSES. 



THE BELLS OF MAUCHLTNE. 

Tune — *' Bonnie Dundee.'''' 

In Mauchline there dwells six proper young Belles, 
The pride of the place and its neighborhood a', 

Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess, 
In Lon'on or Paris they'd gotten it a' : 

Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine, 
Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw: 

There's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Morton, 
But Armour's the jewel for me o' them a'. 



THE TARBOLTON LASSES. 



If ye gae up to yon hill -tap, 
Ye'U there see bonnie Peggy ; 

She kens her father is a laird. 
And she forsooth's a leddy. 

There Sophy tight, a lassie bright. 
Besides a handsome fortune: 

Wha canna win her in a night. 
Has little art in courting. 

Gae down by Faile, and taste the 
ale, 

And tak a look o' Mysie ; 
She's dour and din, a deil within, 

But aiblins she may please ye. 



n 



If she be shy, her sister try, 
Ye'll maybe fancy Jenny, 

If ye'll dispense wi' want o' sense 
She kens hersel she's bonnie. 



As ye gae up by yon hill-side, 
Speer in for bonnie Bessy ; 

She'll gi'e ye a beck, and bid ye light, 
And handsomely address ye. 

There's few sae bonnie, nane sae 
gude. 

In a' King George' dominion ; 
If ye should doubt the truth o' this — 

It's Bessy's ain opinion ! 



THE TARBOLTON LASSES. 

In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper young men, 
And proper young lasses and a', man ; 

But ken ye the Ronalds that live in the Bennals, 
They carry the gree f rae them a', man. 

Their father's a laird, and weel he can spare't, 

Braid money to tocher them a', man, 
To proper young men, he'll clink in the hand 

Gowd guineas a hunder or twa, man. 

There's ane they ca' Jean, I'll warrant ye've seen 

As bonnie a lass or as braw, man, 
But for sense and guid taste she'll vie wi' the best, 

And a conduct that beautifies a', man. 

The charms o' the min', the langer they shine, 
The mair admiration they draw, man ; 

While peaches and cherries, and roses and lilies, 
They fade and they wither awa, man. 



THE TARBOLTON LASSES. 319 



If ye be for Miss Jean, tak this frae a frien', 

A hint o' a rival or twa, man, 
The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang through the fire, 

If that wad entice her awa, man. 

The Laird o' Braehead has been on liis speed, 
For mair than a towmond or twa, man. 

The Laird o' the Ford will straught on a board. 
If he canna get her at a', man. 

Then Anna comes in, the pride 0' her kin, 

The boast of our bachelors a', man : 
Sae sonsy and sweet, sae fully complete. 

She steals our affections awa, man. 

If I should detail the pick and the wale 

O' lasses that live here awa, man, 
The fault wad be mine, if they didna shine, 

The sweetest and best o' them a', man. 

I lo'e her mysel, but darena weel tell, 

My poverty keeps me in awe, man, 
For making o' rhymes, and working at times, 

Does little or naething at a', man. 

Yet I wadna choose to let her refuse, 
Nor ha'e't in her power to say na, man, 

For though I be poor, unnoticed, obscure. 
My stomach's as proud as them a', man. 

Though I canna ride in weel-booted pride. 
And flee o'er the hills like a craw, man, 

I can baud up my head wi' the best o' the breed. 
Though fluttering ever so braw, man. 

My coat and my vest, they are Scotch o' the best, 
O' pairs o' gaid breeks I ha'e twa, man. 

And stockings and pumps to put on my stumps. 
And ne'er a wrang steek in them a', man. 

My sarks they are few, but five o' them new, 
Twal' hundred, as white as the snaw, man, 

A ten-shilling's hat, a Holland cravat ; 
There are no mony poets sae braw, man. 

I never had frien's, weel stockit in means. 
To leave me a hundred or twa, man, 

Nae weel tochered aunts, to wait on their drants, 
And wish them in hell for it a', man. 

I never was canny for hoarding o' money, 

Or claughtin't together at a', man, 
I've little to spend, and naething to lend, 

But deevil a shilling I awe, man. 



320 



MY LADY S GOWN THERE S GAIRS UPON T. 



HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM 

THAT'S AWA.i 
Here's a health to them that's awa, 
Here's a health to them that's awa ; 
And wha winna wish guid luck to 

our cause, 
May never guid luck be their fa' ! 
It's guid to be merry and wise, 
It's guid to be honest and true. 
It's guid to support Caledonia's 

cause, 
And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 
Here's a health to them that's awa, 
Here's a health to Charlie the chief o' 

the clan, 
Altho' that his band be but sma'. 
May liberty meet wi' success ! 
May prudence protect her f rae evil ! 
May tyrants and tyranny tine in the 

mist, 
And wander their way to the devil ? 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 
Here's a health to them that's awa ; 
Here's a health to Tammie,2the Nor- 
land laddie, 
That lives at the lug o' the law ! 
Here's freedom to him that wad read, 
Here's freedom to him that wad 

write ! 
There's nane ever fear'd that the 

truth should be heard, 
But they wham the truth wad indite. 
Here's a health to them that's awa, 
Here's a health to them that's awa. 
Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a Chief- 
tain worth gowd, 
Tho' bred among mountains o' snaw ? 

I'M OWRE YOUNG TO 
MARRY YET.3 
I AM my mammie's ae bairn, 

Wi' unco folk I weary. Sir; 
And lying in a man's bed, 
I'm fley'd wad mak me eerie, Sir. 

CHORUS. 

I'm owre young, I'm owre young, 
I'm owre young to marry yet ; 

1 Charles James Fox. 

2 Thomas Erskine. 

3 Burns writes :—" The chorus of this 
song is old ; the rest of it, such as it is, 
is mine." 



I'm owre young, 'twad be a sin 
To tak me f rae my mammie yet. 

My mammie coft me a new gown, 
The kirk maun hae the gracing o't ; 

Were I to lie wi' you, kind Sir, 
I'm fear'd ye'd spoil the lacing o't. 
I'm owre young, etc. 

Hallowmas is come and gane, 
The nights are langin winter, Sir; 

And you an' I in ae bed, 
In troth I dare na venture, Sir. 
I'm owe young, etc. 

Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind 
Blaws thro' the leafless timmer, Sir ; 

But if ye come this gate again, 
I'll aulder be gin simmer, Sir. 
I'm owre young, etc. 

DAMON AND SYLVIA. 

Tune—" The tither morn, as I forlorn. ' 

YoN wand'ring rill, that marks the 
hill. 
And glances o'er the brae. Sir: 
Slides by a bower where monie a 
flower 
Sheds fragrance on the day. Sir. 

There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay : 

To love they thought nae crime, 

Sir, 

The wild birds sang, the echoes rang, 

While Damon's heart beat time. 

Sir. 

MY LADY'S GOWN THERE'S 
GAIRS UPON'T. 

CHORUS. 

My lady's gown there's gairs 

upon't. 
And gowden flowers sae rare 

upon't; 
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet. 
My lord thinks muckle mair 

upon't. 

My lord a-hunting he is gane, 

But hounds or hawks wi' him are 

nane. 
By Colin's cottage lies his game, 
If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 
My lady's gown, etc. 



O GUID ALE COMES. 



321 



My lady's white, my lady's red, 
And kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude, 
But her ten-pund lands o' tocher guid 
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. 
My lady's gown, etc. 

Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, 
Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather 

pass. 
There wons auld Colin's bonnie lass, 
A lily in a wilderness. 
My lady's gown, etc. 

Sae sweetly move her genty limbs. 
Like music notes o' lover's hymns : 
The diamond dew in her een sae blue, 
Where laughing love sae wanton 
swims. 
My lady's gown, etc. 

My lady's dink, my lady's drest, 
The flower and fancy o' the west ; 
But the lassie that a man lo'es best, 
O that's the lass to make him blest. 
My lady's gown, etc. 

O AYE MY WIFE SHE DANG 
ME. 

CHORUS. 

O aye my wife she dang me, 
An' aft my wife did bang me ; 
If ye gie a woman a' her will, 
Guid faith she'll soon o'ergang ye. 

On peace and rest my mind was bent. 
And fool I was I marry'd ; 

But never honest man's intent 
As cursedly miscarry'd. 

Some sa'r o' comfort still at last, 
When a' thir days are done, man. 

My pains o' hell on earth are past, 

I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man. 

O aye my wife, etc. 

THE BANKS OF NITH. 

A BALLAD. 

To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome 
plains, 
Where late wi' careless thought I 
rang'd, 
Though prest wi' care and sunk in 
woe. 
To thee I bring a heart unchang'd. J 



I love thee, Nith, thy banks and 
braes, 
Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear; 
For there he rov'd that brake my 
heart, 
Yet to that heart, ah, still how 
dear ! 

BONNIE PEG. 

As I came in by our gate end. 
As day was waxin' weary, 

O wha came tripping down the street, 
But bonnie Peg, my dearie ! 

Her air sae sweet, and shape complete, 
Wi' nae proportion wanting, 

The Queen of Love did never move 
Wi' motion mair enchanting, 

Wi' linked hands, we took the sands 
Adown yon winding river ; 

And, oh! that hour and broomy 
bower, 
Can I forget it ever ? 

O LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, 

LASS. 

CHORUS. 

O lay thy loof in mine, lass. 
In mine, lass, in mine, lass. 

And swear in thy white hand, lass, 
That thou wilt be my ain. 

A SLAVE to love's unbounded sway. 
He aft has wrouglit me meikle wae; 
But now he is my deadly fae. 
Unless thou be my ain. 
O lay thy loof, etc. 

There's monie a lass has broke my rest. 
That for a blink I hae lo'ed best ; 
But thou art Queen within my breast, 
Forever to remain. 

O lay thy loof, etc. 

GUID ALE COMES. 

CHORUS, 

O guid ale comes, and guid ale goes, 
Guid ale gars me sell my hose, 
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 



322 



THE FIVE CARLINS. 



I HAD sax owsen in a pleugh, 
They drew a' weel eneugli, 
I sell'd them a' just ane by aue; 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

Guid ale hands me bare and busy, 
Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie, 
Stand i' the stool when I hae done, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 
O guid ale comes, etc. 

O WHY THE DEUCE. 

EXTEMPORE. APRIL, 1782. 

WHY the deuce should I repine, 
And be an ill foreboder? 

I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine — 
I'll go and be a sodger. 

1 gat some gear wi' meikle care, 
I held it weel thegither ; 

But now it's gane and something 
mair, 
I'll go and be a sodger. 

POLLY STEWART. 

Tune—" Fe're tvelcome, Charlie Stewart.'''' 
CHORUS. 

O lovely Polly Stewart, 
O charming Polly Stewart, 

There's ne'er a flower that blooms 
in May, 
That's half so fair as thou art. 

The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa's. 
And art can ne'er renew it ; 

But worth and truth eternal youth 
Will gie to Polly Stewart. 

May he, whase arms shall fauld thy 
charms, 

Possess a leal and true heart ; 
To him be given to ken the heaven 

He grasps in Polly Stewart. 

lovely, etc. 

ROBIN SHURE IN HAIRST. 

CHORUS. 

Robin shure in hairst, 

I sure wi' him, 
Fient a heuk had I, 

Yet I stack by him. 

1 GAED up to Dunse, 

To warp a wab o' plaiden, 



At his daddie's yett, 
Wha met me but Robin. 

Was na Robin bauld, 

Tho' I was a cotter, 
Play'd me sick a trick 

And me the eller's dochter? 

Robin promis'd me 

A' my winter vittle ; 
Fient haet he had but three 

Goose feathers and a whittle. 
Robin shure, etc. 



THE FIVE CARLINS. 

AN ELECTION BALLAD. 1789. 

Tune—" Chevy Chase.'''' 

There were five Carlins in the south, 

They fell upon a scheme, 
To send a lad to Lon'on town 

To bring us tidings hame. 

Not only bring us tidings hame, 

But do our errands there. 
And aiblins gowd and honor baith 

Might be that laddie's share. 

There was Maggie by the banks o' 
Nith, 

A dame wi' pride eneugh ; 
And Marjorie o' the monie Lochs, 

A Carlin old an' teugh. 

And blinkin Bess o' Annandale, 
That dwells near Solway side. 

And whisky Jean that took her gill 
In Galloway so wide. 

An' auld black Joan frae Creighton I 
peel, ' 

O' gipsy kith an' kin. 
Five wighter Carlins were na foun' 

The south kintra within. 

To send a lad to Lon'on town 

They met upon a day," 
And monie a Knight and monie a 
Laird, 

That errand fain would gae. 

O ! monie a Knightand monie a Laird, 
This errand fain would gae ; 

But nae ane could their fancy please, 
O ! ne'er a ane but twae. 



THE DEUKS DANG o'ER MY DADDIE. 



3^3 



The first ane was a belted Kniglit ^ 

Bred o' a border clan, 
And he wad gae to Lon'on town, 

Might nae man him withstau': 

And he wud do tlieir errands weel 

And meikle he wad say, 
And ilka ane at Lon'on court 

Wad bid to him guid day. 

Then neist came in a sodger youth ^ 
And spak wi' modest grace, 

An' he wad gae to Lon'on town, 
If sac their pleasure was. 

He wad na hecht them courtly gift, 
Nor meikle speech pretend ; 

But he would hecht an honest heart 
Wad ne'er desert his friend. 

Now wham to choose and wham re- 
fuse, 

To strife thae Carlins fell; 
For some had gentle folk to please, 

And some wad please themsel. 

Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' 
Nith, 
I An' she spak out wi' pride, 

I An' she wad send the sodger youth 
Whatever might betide. 

For the auld guidman^ o' Lon'on court 

She didna care a pin, 
But she wad send the sodger youth 

To greet his eldest son.* 

Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale : 
A deadly aitli she's ta'en, 

That she wad vote the border Knight, 
Tho' she should vote her lane. 

For far aff fowls hae feathers fair, 
An' fools o' change are fain : 

But I hae tried the border Knight, 
I'll try him yet again. 

Says auld black Joan frae Creighton 
peel, 

A Carlin stoor and grim. 
The auld guidman or young guidman, 

For me may sink or swim ! 

1 Sir James Johnstone. 

2 Captain Miller of Dalswinton. 

3 King George III. 
* The Prince of Wales. 



For fools may freit o' right and 
wrang, 
While knaves laugh them to scorn : 
But the sodger's friends hae blawu 
the best, 
Sae he shall bear the horn. 

Then whisky Jean spak o'er her 
drink, 

Ye weel ken, kimmers a'. 
The auld guidman o' Lon'on court, 

His back's been at the wa'. 

And monie a friend that kiss'd his 
caup. 

Is now a fremit wight ; 
But it's ne'er sae wi' whisky Jean, — 

We'll send the border Knight. 

Then slow raise Marjorie o' the 
Lochs, 

And wrinkled was her brow ; 
Her ancient weed was russet gray, 

Her auld Scots bluid was true. 

There's some great folks set light by 
me, 

I set as light by them ; 
But I will send to Lon'on town, 

Wha I lo'e best at hame. 

So how this weight}^ plea will end 
Nae mortal wight can tell ; 

God grant the King and ilka man 
May look weel to himsel' ! 

THE DEUKS DANG O'ER 
MY DADDIE. 
The bairns gat out wi' an unco 
shout, 
The deuks dang o'er my daddie, 
O! 
The fient ma care, quo' the feirie 
auld wife, 
He was but a paidlin body, O ! 
He paidles out, and he paidles in, 

An' he paidles late and early, O ; 
This seven lang years I hae lien by 
his side, 
An' he is but fusionless carlie, O. 

O hand your tongue, my feirie auld 
wife, 
O baud your tongue now, Nansie, 
0. 



324 



THE UNION. 



I've seen the day, and sae hae ye, 
Ye wadna been sae donsie, O ; 

I've seen the day ye butter'd my 
brose 
And cuddl'd me late and earlie, O ; 

But downa do's come o'er me now. 
And, oh, I find it sairly, O ! 

THE LASS THAT MADE THE 
BED TO ME. 

When Januar' wind was blawing 
cauld 

As to the north I took my way, 
The mirksome night did me enfauld, 

I knew na where to lodge till day. 

By my good luck a maid I met, 
Just in the middle o' my care : 

And kindly she did me invite 
To walk into a chamber fair. 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, 
And thank'd her for her courtesie ; 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid. 
And bade her mak a bed to me. 

She made the bed baith large and 
wide, 
Wi' twa white hands she spread it 
down; 
She put the cup to her rosy lips, 
And drank, ' ' Young man, now 
sleep ye soun," 

She snatch'd the candle in her hand, 
And frae my chamber went wi' 
speed ; 

But I call'd her quickly back again 
To lay some mair below my head. 

A cod she laid below my head. 
And served me wi' due respect; 

And to salute her wi' a kiss, 
I put my arms about her neck. 

" Haudaff your hands, young man," 
she says, 

" And dinna sae uncivil be: 
If ye hae onie love for me, 

O wrang na my virginitie ! " 

Her hair was like the links o' gowd, 
Her teeth were like the ivorie ; 

Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine. 
The lass that made the bed to me. 



Her bosom was the driven snav, 
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see; 

Her limbs the polish 'd marble stane. 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

I kiss'd her owre and owre again. 
And aye she wist na wZiat to say ; 

I laid her between me and the wa',— 
The lassie thought na lang till day. 

Upon the morrow when we rose, 
I thank'd her for her courtesie ; 

But aye she blush'd, and aye she 
sigh'd, 
And said, ' ' Alas ! ye've ruin'd me. " 

I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her 
syne. 
While the tear stook twinkling in 
her ee ; 
I said, "My lassie, dinna cry. 
For ye aye shall make the bed to 
me." 

She took her mither's Holland sheets, 
And made them a' in sarks to me : 

Blithe and merry may she be, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

The bonnie lass made the bed to me, 
The braw lass made the bed to me ; 

I'll ne'er forget till the day I die, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 



THE UNION. 

Tune — " Such a parcel of rogues in a 
nation.'''' 

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, 

Fareweel our ancient glory ! 
Fareweel even to the Scottish name, 

Sae fam'd in martial story ! 
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands, 

And Tweed rins to the ocean. 
To mark where England's province 
stands ; 

Such a parcel of rogues in a na- 
tion. 

What guile or force could not subdue, 
Through many warlike ages, 

Is wrought now by a coward few, 
For hireling traitors' wages. 

The English steel we could disdain. 
Secure in valor's station. 



WEE WILLIE. 



32s 



But English gold has been our bane ; 
Such a parcel of rogues in a na- 
tion! 

O would, or had I seen the day 

That treason thus could sell us, 
My auld gray head had lain in clay, 

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! 
But pith and power, till my last 
hour 
I'll mak this declaration, 
We're bought and sold for English 
gold : 
Such a parcel of rogues in a na- 
tion! 



THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. 

There was a bonnie lass, and a 
bonnie, bonnie lass, 
And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie 
dear; 
Till war's loud alarms tore her laddie 
frae her arms, 
Wi' monie a sigh and tear. 

Over sea, over shore, where the can- 
nons loudly roar, 
He still was a stranger to fear : 



And nocht could him quell, or his 
bosom assail. 
But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae 
dear. 

MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT 
GAY. 

Tune—" Highlander'' s lament.''^ 
My Harry was a gallant gay, 

Fu' stately strade he on the plain 1 
But now he's banish'd far away, 

I'll never see him back again. 

CHORUS. 

for him back again, 
O for him back again, 

1 wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land, 
For Highland Harry back 

again. 

When a' the lave gae to their bed, 
I wander dowie up the glen ; 

I sit me down and greet my fill. 
And aye I wish him back again. 
O for him, etc. 

O were some villains liangit high, 
And ilka body had their ain. 

Then I might see the joyfu' sight. 
My Highland Harry back again I 
O for him, etc. 



TIBBIE DUNBAR. 

Tune—" Johnny WGilV 

O WILT thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 

wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 
Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car, 
Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 

1 care na thy daddie, his lands and his money, 
I care na thy kin, sae high and sae lordly : 
But say thou wilt hae me for better for waur, 
And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar. 

WEE WILLIE. 

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet ; 

Peel a willow-wand, to be him boots and jacket: 

The rose upon the briar will be him trouse and doublet, 

The rose upon the briar will be him trouse and doublet! 

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet ; 

Twice a lily flower will be him sark and cravat; 

Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet, 

Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet. 



326 



LADY ONLIE. 



CRAIGIE-BURN-WOOD. 

CHORUS. 

Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, 
dearie. 
And O to be lying beyond thee, 

sweetly, soundly, weel may he 

sleep, 
That's laid in the bed beyond 
thee. 

Sweet closes the evening on Craigie- 
burn-wood. 
And blithely awakens the morrow ; 
But the pride of the spring in the 
Craigie-burn-wood 
Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. 
Beyond thee, etc. 

I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 

1 hear the wild birds singing ; 
But pleasure they hae nane for me. 

While care my heart is wringing. 
Beyond thee, etc. 

I canna tell, I maun na tell, 

I dare na for your anger ; 
But secret love will break my heart 

If I conceal it langer. 
Beyond thee, etc. " 

I see thee gracefu', straight and tall, 
I see thee sweet and bonnie. 

But oh, what will my torments be, 
If thou refuse thy Johnnie ! 
' Beyond thee, etc. 

To see thee in anither's arms, 
In love to lie and languish, 

'Twad be my dead, that will be seen, 
My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 
Beyond thee, etc. 

But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine. 
Say, thou lo'es nane before me ; 

An' a' my days o' life to come, 

I'll gratefully adore thee. 

Beyond thee, etc. 

HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN 
WATER ! 

Tune—" The job of journey-work.'''' 
Altho' my back be at the wa', 
And tho' he be the f autor ; 



Altho' my back be at the wa'. 

Yet, here's his health in water ! 
O ! wae gae by his wanton sides, 

Sae brawlie he could flatter ; 
Till for his sake I'm slighted sair, 

And dree the kintra clatter. 
But tho' my back be at the wa', 

And tho' he be the fautor ; 
But tho' my back be at the wa', 

Yet, here's his health in water ! 

AS DOWN THE BURN THEY 
TOOK THEIR WAY. 

As down the burn they took their 
way, 

And thro' the flowery dale ; 
His cheeks to hers he aft did lay, 

And love was aye the tale. 

With "Mary, when shall we re- 
turn, 
Sic pleasure to renew ? " 
Quoth Mary, "Love, I like the 
burn, 
And aye shall follow you." 

LADY ONLIE. 

Tune—" Ruffian''s rant.'''' 

A' the lads o' Thornie-bank, 
When they gae to the shore o' 
Bucky, 
They'll step in an' tak' a pint 
Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 
Brews gude ale at shore o' 
Bucky ; 
I wish her sale for her gude ale, 
The best on a' the shore o' 
Bucky. 

Her house sae bien, her curch sae 
clean, 
I wat she is a dainty chucky ; 
And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed 
Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 
Brews gude ale at shore o' 
Bucky ; 
I wish her sale for her gude ale, 
The best on a' the shore o' 
Bucky. 



OUR THRISSLES FLOURISHED FRESH AND FAIR. 327 



AS I WAS A WANDERING. 
Tune—" Einn meudial mo mhealladh.'''' 

Ts I was a wand'ring ae midsummer e'enin', 

The pipers and youngsters were making their game. 

Amang them I spied m}^ faithless fause lover, 
Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolor again. 

Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him; 

I may be distress'd, but I winna complain ; 
I flatter my fancy I may get auither. 

My heart it shall never be broken for ana. 

I could na get sleeping till dawin' for greetin', 
The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain; 

Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken, 
For, oh ! love f orsaken's a tormenting pain. 

Altho' he has left me for greed 0' the siller, 
I dinna envy him the gains he can win ; 

I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow 
Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him. 

Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him, 
I may be distress'd, but I winna complain; 

I flatter my fancy I may get anither. 
My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 



BANNOCKS O' BARLEY. 

Tune—" The Killogie.'" 
Bannocks o' bear meal. 

Bannocks o' Barley ; 
Here's to the Highlandman's 

Bannocks o' barley. 
Wha in a brulzie 

Will first cry a parley ? 
Never the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley. 

Bannocks o' bear meal, 

Bannocks o* Barley ; 
Here's to the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley ; 
Wha in his wae-days 

AVere loyal to Charlie ? 
Wha but the lads wi' 

The bannocks 0' barley. 

OUR THRISSLES FLOURISHED 
FRESH AND FAIR. 

Tune—" Aiva Whigs, aiva." 
CHORUS. 

Awa Whigs, awa ! 
Awa Whigs, awa 1 



Ye're but a pack 0' traitor louns, 
Ye'll do nae good at a'. 

Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair, 

And bonnie bloom'd our roses ; 

But Whigs came like a frost in June, 

And wither'd a' our posies. 

Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust—- 
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't; 

And write their names in his black 
beuk, 
Wha gae the Whigs the powder o't. 

Our sad decay in Church and State 
Surpasses my describing ; 

The Whigs came o'er us for a curse, 
And we hae done with thriving. 

Grim vengeance lang has ta'en a nap, 
But we may see him wauken ; 

Gude help the day when royal heads 
Are hunted like a maukin. 

Awa Whigs, awa ! 

Awa Whigs, awa ! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, 

Ye'll do nae gude at a'. 



328 



COMING THROUGH THE RYE. 



PEG-A-EAMSEY. 

Tune — " Cauld is the e'enin' blast.''^ 
Cauld is the e'enin' blast 

O' Boreas o'er the pool, 
And dawin' it is dreary 

When birks are bare at Yule. 

O bitter blaws the e'enin' blast 
When bitter bites the frost, 

And in the mirk and dreary drift 
The hills and glens are lost. 

Ne'er sae murky blew the night 
That drifted o'er the hill, 

But bonnie Peg-a-Ramsey 
Gat grist to her mill. 

COME BOAT ME O'ER TO 
CHARLIE. 

TtTNE — " O'^er the water to Charlie.'''' 
Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er, 

Come boat me o'er to Charlie ; 
I'll gie John Ross another bawbee, 

To boat me o'er to Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the 
sea, 
We'll o'er the water to Charlie ; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll 
gather and go, 
And live or die wi' Charlie. 

I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, 
Tho' some there be abhor him : 

But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame, 
And Charlie's faes before him ! 

I 3wear and vow by moon and stars. 

And sun that shines so early. 
If I had twenty thousand lives, 
I'd die as aft for Charlie. 
We'll o'er the water and o'er the 
sea, 
We'll o'er the water to Charlie ; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll 
gather and go, 
And live or die with Charlie ! 

BRAW LADS OF GALLA 
WATER. 

Tune—" Galla Water:' 
CHORUS. 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 
O braw lads of Galla Water! 



I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee. 
And follow my love through the 
water. 

Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, 
Sae bonnie blue her een, my dearie ; 

Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her 
mou', 
The mair I kiss she's aye my dearie. 

O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, 
O'er yon moss among the heather ; 

I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 
And follow my love through the 
water. 

Down amang the broom, the broom. 

Down amang the broom, my dearie, 

The lassie lost a silken snood, 

That cost her mony a blirt and 

bleary. 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water; 

O braw lads of Galla Water : 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee. 
And follow my love through 
the water. 

COMING THROUGH THE 
RYE. 

Tune — " Coming through the rye:'' 

Coming through the rye, poor 
body. 

Coming through the rye. 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 
Jenny's a' wat, poor body, 

Jenny's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 

Gin a body meet a body — 
Coming through the rye ; 

Gin a body kiss a body — 
Need a body cry? 

Gin a body meet a body 

Coming through the glen, 
Gin a body kiss a body— 

Need the world ken? 
Jenny's a' wat, poor body; 

Jenny's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 



HEE BALOU. 



329 



THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAK 

Tune—" Jacky Latin.'''' 
Gat ye me, O gat ye me, 

O gat ye me \vi' naetbing? 
Rock and reel, and spinnin' wheel, 

A mickle quarter basin. 
Bye attour, my gutcher lias 

A hich house and a laigh ane, 
A' forbye, my bonnie sel', 

The toss of Ecclefechan. 



haud your tongue now, Luckie 

Laing, 

haud your tongue and jauner; 

1 held the gate till you I met, 

Syne I began to wander : 
I tint my whistle and my sang, 

1 tint my peace and pleasure ; 
But your green graff, now, Luckie 

Laing, 
Wad airt me to my treasure. 



THE SLAVE'S LAMENT. 

It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral, 

For the lands of Virginia, O ; 
Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more, 

And alas I am weary, weary, O ! 

All on that charming coast is no bitter snow or frost, 

Like the lands of Virginia, O ; 
There streams forever flow, and there flowers forever blow, 

And alas I am weary, weary, O ! 

The burden I must bear, while the cruel scourge I fear, 

In the lands of Virginia, O ; 
And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear, 

And alas I am weary, weary, O ! 



HAD I THE WYTE. 

Tune—" Had I the loyte she bade me." 
Had I the wyte, had I the wyte. 

Had I the wyte she bade me ; 
She watch'd me by the hie-gate side. 

And up the loan she sliaw'd me ; 
And when I wadna venture in, 

A coward loon she ca'd me ; 
Had kirk and state been in the gate, 

I lighted when she bade me. 

Sae craftilie she took me ben, 

And bade mo make nae clatter ; 
" For our ramgunshoch glum gude- 
man 

Is out and ower the water : " 
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace. 

When I did kiss and dawte her. 
Let him be planted in my place. 

Syne say I was the fautor. 

Could I for shame, could I for shame, 
Could I for shame refused her ? 

And wadna manhood been to blame, 
Had I unkindly used her ? 

He clawed her wi' the ripplin-kame. 
And blue and bluidy bruised her ; 



When sic a husband was frae hame, 
What wife but had excused her ? 

I dighted aye her een sae blue. 

And bann'd the cruel randy ; 
And weel I wat her willing mou' 

Was e'en like sugar-candy. 
A gloamin-shot it was I trow, 

I lighted on the Monday ; 
But I cam through the Tysday'sdew, 

To wanton Willie's brandy. 

HEE BALOU. 

Tune—" Tlie Highland balou.'''' 
Hee balou ! my sweet wee Donald 
Picture o' the great Clanronald ; 
Brawlie kens our wanton chief 
Wha got my young Highland thief. 

Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie. 
An' thou live, thou'll steal a naigie : 
Travel the country thro' and thro', 
And bring hame a Carlisle cow. 

Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border, 
Weel, my babie, may thou furder : 
Herry the louns o' the laigh countree. 
Syne to the Highlands hamjg to me. 



330 



THE CARDIN O T. 



HEE DADDIE FORBAD. 

Tune — " Jumpin' John.'''' 
Hek daddie forbad, her minnie for- 
bad; 
Forbidden she wadna be : 
She wadna trow't, the browst she 
brew'd 
Wad taste sae bitterlie. 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' 
John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie, 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' 
John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 

A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf 
' And thretty gude shillin's and 

three ; 
A very good tocher, a cotter-man's 
dochter, 
The lass with the bonnie black ee. 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' 
John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie, 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' 
John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 

HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, 
MY BONNIE LASS. 
Tune— " iaggfan Burn.'''' 

Here's to thy health, my bonnie 
lass, 

Gude night, and joy be wi' thee; 
I'll come nae mair to thy bower door, 

To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 

dinna think, my pretty pink, 
That I can live without thee : 

1 vow and swear I dinna care 
How lang ye look about ye. 

Thou'rt aye sae free informing me 

Thou hast nae mind to marry ; 
I'll be as free informing thee 

Nae time hae I to tarry. 
I ken thy friends try ilka means, 

Frae wedlock to delay thee ; 
Depending on some higher chance — 

But fortune may betray thee. 

I ken they scorn my low estate, 
But that does never grieve me ; 

But I'm as free as any he, 
Sma' siller will relieve me. 



I count my health my greatest 
wealth, 

Sae lang as I'll enjoy it: 
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want. 

As lang's I get employment. 

But far aff fowls hae feathers fair, 

And aye until ye try them : 
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care. 

They may prove waur than I am. 
But at twal at night, when the moon 
shines bright. 

My dear, I'll come and see thee ; 
For the man that lo'es his mistress 
weel 

Nae travel makes him weary. 

HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER. 

Tune—" The Dusty Miller.'''' 

Hey, the dusty miller. 

And his dusty coat ; 

He will win a shilling. 

Or he spend a groat. 

Dusty was the coat. 

Dusty was the color, 
Dusty was the kiss 
That I got frae the miller. 

Hey, the dusty miller, 
And his dusty sack ; 
Leeze me on the calling 
Fills the dusty peck. 
Fills the dusty peck. 

Brings the dusty siller; 
I wad gie my coatie 
For the dusty miller. 

THE CARDIN' O'T. 

Tune—" Salt Fish and Dumplings.''^ 
I COFT a stane o' haslock woo'. 

To make a coat to Johnny o't : 
For Johnny is my only jo, 
I lo'e him best of ony yet. 
The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't; 
The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't ; 
When ilka ell cost me a groat. 
The tailor staw the lynin' o't. 

For though his locks be lyart gray. 
And though his brow be beld 
aboon ; 

Yet I hae seen him on a day, 
The pride of a' the parishen. 



THE FAREWELL. 



331 



The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't, 
The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't 

When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
The tailor staw the lynia' o't. 

THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. 

Tune — " Maggie Lauder.'"' 
I MARRIED with a scolding wife 

The foiirteeuth of November ; 
She made me weary of my life, 

By one unruly member. 
Long did I bear the heavy yoke, 

And many griefs attended ; 
But, to my comfort be it spoke, 

Now, now her life is ended. 

We lived full one-and-twenty years 

A man and wife together ; 
At length from me her course she 
steer'd, 

And gone I know not whither : 
Would I could guess, I do profess, 

I speak, and do not flatter. 
Of all the women in the world, 

I never could come at her. 

Her body is bestow'd well, 

A handsome grave does hide her; 
But sure her soul is not in hell. 

The deil would ne'er abide her. 
I rather think she is aloft. 

And imitating thunder; 
For why, — methinks I hear her voice 

Tearing the clouds asunder. 

THENIEL MENZIE'S BONNIE 
MARY. 

Tune—" The Ruffian's rant.'''' 
In coming by the brig o' Dye, 

At Darlet we a blink did tarry ; 
As day was dawin in the sky 

We drank a health to bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 

Her een sae bright, her brow sae 
white, 
Her half et locks as brown's a berry. 
An' aye they dimpled wi' a smile 
The rosy clieeks o' bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 



Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 

We lap an' danced the lee-lang day, 
Till piper lads were wae an' weary. 
But Charlie gat the spring to pay 
For kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 

THE FAREWELL. 

Tune— "7* was a' for our rightfu' King.\ 
It was a' for our rightfu' King, 

We left fair Scotland's strand ; 
It was a' for our rightfu' King 

We e'er saw Irish land. 

My dear ; 

We e'er saw Irish land. 

Now a' is done that men can do, 

And a' is done in vain ; 
My love and native land farewell, 

For I maun cross the main, 
My dear ; 

For I maun cross the main. 

He turn'd him right and round about 

Upon the Irish shore; 
And gae his bridle-reins a shake, 

With adieu for evermore, 
My dear ; 

With adieu for evermore. 

The sodger from the wars returns, 

The sailor frae the main ; 
But I hae parted frae my love. 

Never to meet again. 

My dear; 

Never to meet again. 

When day is gane, and night is come, 
And a' folk bound to sleep ; 

I think on him that's far awa'. 
The lee-lang night, and weep, 

My dear ; 
The lee-lang night, and weep. 

IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE 
FACE. 

Tune—" The Maid's Complaint.''* 
It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face, 
Nor shape that I admire, 



332 



MY HEART WAS ANCE. 



Although thy beauty and thy grace 
Might weel awake desire. 

Something, in ilka part o' thee, 
To praise, to love, 1 find ; 

But dear as is thy form to me. 
Still dearer is thy mind. 

Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae. 

Nor stronger in my breast. 
Than if I canna mak thee sae. 

At least to see thee blest. 
Content am I, if Heaven shall give 

But happiness to thee : 
And as wi' thee I'd wish to live. 

For thee I'd bear to die. 

JAMIE, COME TRY ME. 

Tune— "Jamre, come try me." 
CHORUS. 

Jamie, come try me, 
Jamie, come try me ; 
If thou would win my love ; 
Jamie, come try me. 

If thou should ask my love, 

Could I den}^ thee ? 
If thou would win my love, 

Jamie, come try me. 

If thou should kiss me, love, 

Wha could espy thee ? 
If thou wad be my love, 

Jamie, come try me. 
Jamie, come try me, etc. 

LANDLADY, COUNT THE 
LAWIN. 

Tune— "jHey tutti, taiti.'''' 
Landlady, count the lawin. 
The day is near the dawin ; 
Ye're a' blind drunk, boys. 
And I'm but jolly fou. 
Hey tutti, taiti, 
How tutti, taiti — 
Wha's fou now ? 

Cog an' ye were a3^e fou. 
Cog an' ye were aye fou, 
I wad sit and sing -to you 
If ye were aye fou. 

Weel may ye a' be ! 
Ill may we never see ! 
^od bless the King, boys, 



And the companie ! 
Hey tutti, taiti, 
How tutti, taiti — 
Wha's fou now ? 



MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A 
LASSIE YET. 

Tune—" Lady BadinscoWs reeV 
My love she's but a lassie yet ; 

My love she's but a lassie yet; 
We'll let her stand a year or twa. 

She'll no be half sae saucy yet. 
I rue the day I sought her, O, 

I rue the day I sought her, O ; 
Wha gets her needs na say she's 
woo'd, 

But he may say he's bought her, O I 

Come, drap o' the best o't yet ; 
Come, draw a drop o' the best o't 

yet, 

Gae seek for pleasure where ye will, 
But here I never miss'd it yet. 

We're a' dry wi' drinking o't. 
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ; 

The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife, 
An' could na preach for thinkin' 
o't. 

MY HEART WAS ANCE. 

Tune—" To the weavers gin ye go.'^ 

My heart was ance as blithe and free 

As simmer days were lang. 
But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad 
Has gart me change my sang. 
To the weavers gin ye go, fair 
maids, 
To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede you right gang ne'er at 
night 
To the weavers gin ye go. 

My mither sent me to the town. 

To warp a plaiden wab ; 
But the weary, weary warpin o't 

Has gart me sigh and sab. 

A bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Sat working at his loom ; 
He took my heart as wi' a net, 

In every knot and thrum. 

I sat beside my warpin-wheel, 
J And ay I ca'd it roun' j 



THE captain's LADY. 



333 



But every shot and every knock, 
My heart it gae a stoun. 

The moon was sinking in the west 
Wi' visage pale and wan, 

As my bonnie westlin weaver lad 
Convoy'd me through the glen. 

But what was said, or what was done' 

Shame fa' me gin I tell ; 
But oh ! I fear the kintra soon 

Will ken as weel's mysel. 

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids, 
To the weavers gin ye go ; 

I rede you right gang ne'er at night, 
To the weavers gin ye go. 

LOVELY DAYIES. 

Tune—" Miss Muir.''' 

O HOW shall I, unskilfu', try 

The poet's occupation, 
The tunef u' powers, in happy hours. 

That whisper inspiration? 
Even they maun dare an effort mair. 

Than aught they ever gave us, 
Or they rehearse, in equal verse, 

The charms o' lovely Da vies. 

Each eye it cheers, when she appears. 

Like Phoebus in the morning. 
When past the shower, and ev'ry 
flower 
The garden is adorning. 
As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's 
shore. 
When winter-bound the wave is ; 
Sae droops our heart when we maun 
part 
Frae charming lovely Davies. 

Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift. 

That maks us mair than princes ; 
A scepter'd hand, a King's command, 

Is in her darting glances : 
The man in arms, 'gainst female 
charms, 

Even he her willing slave is; 
He hugs his chain, and owns the 
reign 

Of conquering, lovely Davies. 

My Muse to dream of such a theme, 
Her feeble powers surrender ; 



The eagle's gaze alone surveys 
The sun's meridian splendor: 

I wad in vain essay the strain, 
The deed too daring brave is; 

I'll drap the lyre, and mute admire 
The charms o' lovely Davies. 

KENMURE'S ON AND AWA. 

Tune.— ' O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie.'''' 
O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie ! 

O Kenmure's on and awa ! 
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest 
lord 

That ever Galloway saw. 

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie! 

Success to Kenmure's band ; 
There's no a heart that fears a Whig 

That rides by Kenmure's hand. 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, 
Willie ! 
Here's Kenmure's health in wine ; 
There ne'er was a coward o' Ken- 
mure's blude, 
Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 

O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie 1 
O Kenmure's lads are men ; 

Their hearts and swords are metal 
true — 
And that their faes shall ken. 

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie ! 

They'll live or die wi' fame ; 
But soon, wi' sounding victorie, 

May Kenmure's lord come hame. 

Here's him that's far awa, Willie ! 

Here's him that's far awa ; 
And here's the flower that I love best 

The rose that's like the snaw ! 

THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 

Tune—" O mount and go.'''' 
CHORUS. 

O mount and go, 

Mount and make you ready : 
O mount and go. 

And be the Captain's Lady. 

When the drums do beat, 

And the cannons rattle, 
Thou shalt sit in state, 

And see thy love in battle. 



334 



MERRY HAE I BEEN, TEETHIN' A HECKLE. 



When the vanquish'd foe 
Sues for peace and quiet, 

To the shades we'll go, 
And in love enjoy it. 

O mount and go, 

Mount and make you ready, 
O mount and go, 

And be the Captain's Lady. 

LADY MARY ANN. 
Tune—" Cragtovm's growing.'''' 

O, Lady Mary Ann 

Looks o'er the castle wa', 
She saw three bonnie boys 

Playing at the ba' ; 
The youngest he was 

The flower amang them a' ; 
My bonnie laddie's young. 

But he's growin' yet. 

O father! O father! 

An' ye think it fit. 
We'll send him a year 

To the college yet : 
We'll sew a green ribbon 

Round about his hat, 
And that will let them ken 

He's to marry yet. 

Lady Mary Ann 

Was a flower i' the dew, 
Sweet was its smell, 

Bonnie was its hue ! 
And the langer it blossom'd 

The sweeter it grew ; 
For the lily in the bud 

Will be bonnier yet. 

Young Charlie Cochran 

Was the sprout of an aik ; 
Bonnie and bloomin' 

And straught was its make : 
The sun took delight 

To shine for its sake. 
And it will be the brag 

O' the forest yet. 



The simmer is gane 

When the leavesthey were green, 
And the days are awa 

That we hae seen: 
But far better days 

I trust will come again. 
For my bonnie laddie's young, 

But he's growin' yet. 
THE HIGHAND WIDOW'S 
LAMENT. 
Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
Without a penny in my purse, 
To buy a meal to me. 

It was na sae in the Highland hills, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
Nae woman in the country wide 

Sae happy was as me. 

For then I had a score o' kye, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
Feeding on yon hills so high, 

And giving milk to me. 

And there I had three score o' yowes 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes, 

And casting woo' to me. 

I was the happiest of the clan, 

Sair, sair may I repine ; 
For Donald was the brawest lad. 

And Donald he was mine. 

Till Charlie Stewart cam at last, 

Sae far to set us free ; 
My Donald's arm was wanted then, 

For Scotland and for me. 

Their waefu' fate what need I tell, 
Right to the wrang did yield: 

My Donald and his country fell 
Upon Culloden's field. 

Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
Nae woman in the world wide, 

Sae wretched now as me. 



MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE. 

Tune— "io7-d Breadalhane^s March^ 

O MERRY hae I been teethin' a heckle, 
And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon; 

O merry hae I been cloutin a kettle. 
And kissin' my Katie when a' was done. 



o mally's meek, mally's sweet. 



335 



O a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer, 
An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing, 

A' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer, 
An' a' the lang night as happy's a King. 

Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins, 

O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave : 
Bless'd be the hour she cool'd in her linnens, 

And blithe be the bird that sings on her grave. 
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, 

An' come to my arms, and kiss me again ! 
Drunken or sober, here's to thee, Katie ! 

And bless'd be the day I did it again. 



RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLIE. 

TviJE—''' RattUn\ roarin' Willie.''^ 

O rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

O, he held to the fair, 
An' for to sell his fiddle, 

An' buy some other ware ; 
But parting wi' his fiddle, 

The saut tear blin't his ee ; 
And rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye're welcome hame to me ! 

Willie, come sell your fiddle, 
O sell your fiddle sae fine ; 



O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 
And buy a pint o' wine ! 

If I should sell my fiddle. 
The warl' would think I was mad 

For mony a rantin' day 
My fiddle and I hae had. 

As I cam by Crochallan, 

I cannily keekit ben — 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie 

Was sitting at yon board en', 
Sitting at yon board en', 

And amang guid companie ; 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye're welcome hame to me 1 



O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET. 

O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 

Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 

Mally's every way complete. 
As I was walking up the street, 

A barefit maid I chanced to meet ; 
But O the road was very hard 

For that fair maiden's tender feet. 

It were mair meet that those fine feet 
Were weel laced up in silken shoon, 

And 'twere more fit that she should sit 
Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 

Her yellow hair, beyond compare, 

Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck. 
And her two eyes, like stars in skies, 

Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. 
O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 

Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 

Mally's every way complete. 



33^ 



THE FETE CHAMPETRE. 



SAE FAK AW A. 

Tune—" Dalkeith Maiden Bridge.''^ 

O SAD and heavy should I part, 

But for her sake sae far awa ; 
Unknowing what my way may 
thwart 

My native land sae far awa. 
Thou that of a' things Maker art, 

That form'd this Fair sae far awa, 
Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start 

At this my way sae far awa. 

How true is love to pur6 desert. 

So love to her, sae far awa : 
And nocht can heal my bosom's 
smart. 

While, oh ! she is sae far awa. 
Nane other love, nane other dart, 

I feel but hers, sae far awa ; 
But fairer never touch'd a heart 

Than hers, the Fair sae far awa. 



STEER HER UP 

Tune— "O steer her up, and haud Tier 
gaun.'" 

O STEEK her up, and haud ^er 
gaun — 

Her mother's at the mill, jo; 
And gin she winna take a man, 

E'en let her take her will, jo; 
First shore her wi' a kindly kiss, 

And ca' another gill, jo. 
And gin she take the thing amiss, 

E'en let her flyte her fill, jo. 



O steer her up, and be na blate. 

An' gin she tak it ill, jo, 
Then lea'e the lassie till her fate, 

And time nae langer spill, jo: 
Ne'er break your heart for ae 
bute. 

But think upon it still, jo; 
Then gin the lassie winna do% 

Ye'U fin' anither will, jo. 



re- 



O, WHAR DID YE GET. 

Tune—" Bonnie Dundee." 

O, WHAR did ye get that hauver meal bannock ? 

O silly blind body, O dinna ye see ? 
I gat it frae a brisk young sodger laddie, 

Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee. 
O gin I saw the laddie that gae me't ! 

Aft has he doudled me on his knee ; 
May Heaven protect my bonnie Scotch laddie, 

And send him safe hame to his babie and me ? 

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie. 

My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e brie ! 
Thy smiles are sae like my blithe sodger laddie, 

Thou's aye the dearer and dearer to me ! 
But I'll big a bower on yon bonnie banks, 

Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear; 
And I'll deed thee in the tartan sae fine, 

And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear. 

THE FETE CHAMPETRE. 

Tune — " Killiecrankie.'''' 



O WHA will to Saint Stephen's house. 

To do our errands there, man ? 
O wha will to Saint Stephen's 
house, 

O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man ? 
Or will we send a man-o'-law ? 

Or will we send a sodger ? 
Or him wha led o'er Scotland a' 

The meikle Ursa-Major ? 



Come, will ye court a noble lord. 
Or buy a score o' lairds, man ? 
For worth and honor pawn their 
word, 
Their vote shall be Glencaird's, 
man ? 
Ane gies them coin, ane gies them, 
wine 
Anither gies them clatter; 



THE BLUDE RED ROSE AT YULE MAY BLAW. 



337 



Anbank,wlia guess'd the ladies' taste, 

He gies a Fete Champetre. 
When Love and Beauty heard the 
news, 
The gay green-woods amang, man ; 
Where gathering flowers and busk- 
ing bowers, 
They heard the blackbird's sang, 
man; 
A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss 

Sir Politics to fetter, 
As theirs alone, the patent-bliss, 
To hold a Fete Champetre. 

Then mounted ^lirth, on gleesome 
wing. 

O'er hill and dale she flew, man ; 
Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring, 

Ilk glen and shaw she knew, 
man: 
She summon'd every social sprite. 

That sports by wood or water. 
On th' bonnie banks of Ayr to meet. 

And keep this Fete Champetre. 

Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous 
crew^ 
Were bound to stakes like kye, 
man; 
And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', 

Clamb up the starry sky, man : 
Reflected beams dwell in the streams, 

Or down the current shatter ; 
The western breeze steals through 
the trees, 
To view this Fete Champetre. 

How many a robe sae gaily floats ! 

What sparklin jewels glance, man! 
To Harmony's enchanting notes. 

As moves the mazy dance, man ! 



The echoing wood, the winding flood. 
Like Paradise did glitter, 

When angels met, at Adam's yett. 
To hold their Fete Champetre 

When Politics came there, to mix 

And make his ether-stane, man ! 
He circled round the magic ground. 

But entrance found he nane, man: 
He blush'd for shame, he quat his 
name. 

Forswore it, every letter, 
Wi' humble prayer to join and share 

This festive Fete Champetre. 

SIMMER'S A PLEASANT 
TIME. 

Tune— " J.t/ loawfcm, O." 
Simmer's a pleasant time, 
Flow'rs of ev'ry color : 
The water rins o'er the heugh, 
And I long for my true lover. 
Ay waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie : 
Sleep I can get nane 
For thinking on my dearie. 

When I sleep I dream 
When I wauk I'm eerie ; 

Sleep I can get nane 
For thinking on my dearie. 

Lanely night comes on, 

A' the lave are sleeping ; 
I think on my bonnie lad 
And I bleer my een with greetin'. 
Ay waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie ; 
Sleep I can get nane 
For thinking on my dearie. 



THE BLUDE RED ROSE AT YULE MAY BLAW. 

Tune—" To daunton me." 

The blude red rose at Yule may blaw, 
The simmer lilies bloom in snaw. 
The frost may freeze the deepest sea ; 
But an auld man shall never daunton me. 

To daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 



22 



338 



THE COOPER O' CUDDIE. 



For a' his meal and a' his maut, 
For a' his fresh beef and his saut, 
For a' his gold and white monie, 
An auld man shall never daunton me. 

His gear may buy him kye and yowes, 
His gear may buy him glens and knowes; 
But me he shall not buy nor fee, 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 



He hirples twa fauld as he dow, 
Wi' his teethless gab and his auld held pow, 
And the rain rains down frae his red bleer'd 
That auld man shall never daunton me. 



To daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 

Tune.—" // thou'lt play me fair playy 

The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie. 
Wore a plaid and was f u' braw, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
On his head a bonnet blue, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie. 
His royal heart was firm and true, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 

Trumpets sound and cannons roar, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie. 
And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 
Glory, Honor, now invite, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie. 
For Freedom and my King to fight, 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 



The 



backward course shall 



sun a 
take 
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie. 
Ere aught thy manly courage 
shake ; 
Bonnie Highland laddie. 
Go, for yoursel procure renown, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie. 
And for your lawful King his crown, 
Bonnie Highland laddie ! 



THE COOPER 0' CUDDIE. 

Tune— " J?a6 at the boivster.'''' 
The cooper o' Cuddie cam here awa. 
And ca'd the girrs out owre us a' — 
And our gude-wife has gotten a ca' 
That anger'd the silly gude-man, O. 
i We'll hide the cooper behind the 
door; 
Behind the door, behind the door ; 
We'll hide the cooper behind the 
door, 
And cover him under a mawn, O. 

He sought them out, he sought them 

in, 
Wi', Deil hae her ! and, Deil hae him ! 
But the body was sae doited and blin', 
He wist ua where he was gaun, O. 

They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd 

at morn. 
Till our gude-man has gotten the 

scorn ; 
On ilka brow she's planted a horn, 

And swears that they shall stan', O. 
We'll hide the cooper behind the 

door, 
Behind the door, behind the door; 
We'll hide the cooper behind the 
door. 
And cover him under a mawn, O. 



THE TITHER MORN. 



33Q 



NITHDALE'S WELCOME HAME. 



The noble Maxwells and their powers 

Are coming o'er the border, 
And they'll gae bigg Terreagle's 
towers, 

An' set them a' in order, 
And they declare Terreagle's fair, 

For their abode they choose it ; 
There's no a heart in a' the land, 

But's lighter at the news o't. 



Tho' stars in skies may disappear, 

And angry tempests gather ; 
The happy hour may soon be near 

That brings us pleasant weather: 
The weary night o' care and grief 

May hae a joyful morrow; 
So dawning day has brought re- 
lief— 

Fareweel our night o' sorrow 1 



THE TAILOR. 

Tune— "TTie Tailor fell thro'' the bed, thimbles an' a'." 
The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a', 
The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a' ; 
The blankets were thin, and the sheets they were sma*, 
The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a'. 

The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill, 
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill ; 
The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still, 
She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill. 

Gie me the groat again, canny young man; 
Gie me the groat again, canny young man; 
The day it is short, and the night it is lang, 
The dearest siller that ever I wan ! 

There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 
There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 
There's some that are dowie, I trow wad be fain 
To see the bit tailor come skippin' again. 

THE TITHER MORN. 



The tither mom, 

When I forlorn, 
Aneath an aik sat moaning, 

I did na trow, 

I'd see my Jo, 
Beside me, gain the gloaming. 

But he sae trig. 

Lap o'er the rig, 
And dawtiugly did cheer me, 

When I, what reck, 

Did least expec', 
To see my lad so near me. 

His bonnet he, 

A thought ajee, [me ; 

Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd 

And I, I wat, 

Wi' fainness grat. 
While in his grips he press'd me, 



Deil tak' the war! 

I late and air, 
Hae wish since Jock departed; 

But now as glad 

I'm wi' my lad. 
As short syne broken-hearted. 

Fu' aft at e'en 

Wi dancing keen. 
When a' were blithe and merry 

I car'd na by, 

Sae sad was I 
In absence o' my dearie. 

But, praise be blest, 

My mind's at rest, 
I'm happy wi' my Johnny; 

At kirk and fair, 

I'se aye be there. 
And be as canty 's ony. 



340 THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN BRAES. 



THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN BRAES. 

Tune — '•'■ Kellyhurn braes.'''' 

There lived a carle on Kellyburn braes 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnle wi' thyme), 

And he had a wife was the plague o' his days ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

Ae day as the carle gaed up the lang glen 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

He met wi' the Devil ; says, " How do you fen ? " 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

"I've got a bad wife, sir; that's a' my complaint" 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 
"For, saving your presence, to her ye're a saint;" 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

"It's neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

"But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have;" 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

" O welcome, most kindly," the blithe carle said 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

"But if ye can match her, ye're waur nor ye're ca'd; 
And the thyme it is w^ither'd, and rue is in prime. 

The Devil has got the auld wife on his back 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

And like a poor pedler, he's carried his pack ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

He's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

Syne bad her gae in, for a b — h and a w — e ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

Then straight he makes fifty the pick o' his band 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

The carlin gaed thro' them like ony wud bear 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme;, 

Whae'er she gat hands on came near her nae mair; 
And the thyme it is wither'd and rue is in prime. 

A reekit wee Devil looks over the wa' 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

"O, help, master, help, or she'll ruin us a'; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 



THERE WAS A LASS. 34I 

The Devil he swore by the edge o' his knife 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 
He pitied the man that was tied to a wife ; 

And the thyme it is wither'd and rue is in prime. 

The Devil he swore by the kirk and the bell 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 
He was not in wedlock, thank heav'n but in hell ; 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

Then Satan has travel'd again wi' his pack 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 
And to her auld husband he's carried her back; 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

"I hae been a Devil the feck o' my life," 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi" thyme), 
*' But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife ; " 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 



THERE WAS A LASS. 
Tune—" Duncan Davison.^'' 

There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, 

And she held o'er the moors to spin; 
There was a lad that follow 'd her. 

They ca'd him Duncan Davison. 
The moor was driegh, and Meg was skiegh, 

Her favor Duncan could na win ; 
For wi' the rock she wad him knock, 

And aye she shook the temper-pin. 

As o'er the moor they lightly f oor, 

A burn was clear, a glen was green. 
Upon the banks they eased their shanks, 

And aye she set the wheel between ; 
But Duncan swore a haly aith, 

That Meg should be a bride the morn ; 
Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith, 

And flung them a' out o'er the bum. 

We'll big a house — a wee, wee house. 

And we will live like King and Queen, 
Sae blithe and merry we will be 

When ye set by the wheel at e'en. 
A man may drink and no be drunk; 

A man may fight and no be slain; 
A man may kiss a bonnie lass. 

And aye be welcome back again. 



342 



THE CARLES OF DYSART. 



THE WEARY FUND O' TOW. 

Tune—" The weary pund o' iow." 

The weary pund, the weary pund, 

The weary pund o' tow ; 
I think my wife will end her life 

Before she spin her tow, 
I bought my wife a stane o' lint 

As gude as e'er did grow ; 
And a' that she has made o' that, 

Is ae poor pund o' tow. 

There sat a bottle in a bole. 

Beyond the ingle low, 
And aye she took the tither souk 

To drouk the stowrie tow. 

Quoth I, For shame, ye dirty dame, 
Gae spin your tap o' tow ! 

She took the rock, and wi' a knock 
She brak it o'er my pow. 

At last her feet — I sang to see't — 
Gaed foremost o'er the knowe ; 
And or I wad anither jad, 
I'll wallop in a tow. 
The weary pund, the weary 
pund. 
The wearj^ pound o' tow ! 
I think my wife will end her life 
Before she spin her tow. 



THE PLOUGHMAN, 

Tune—" Up wV the Ploughman.'''' 

The ploughman he's a bonnie lad. 
His mind is ever true, jo, 

His garters knit below his knee, 
His bonnet it is blue, jo. 

CHORUS. 

Then up wi't a', my ploughman lad. 
And hey, my merry ploughman; 

Of a' the trades that I do ken, 
Commend me to the ploughman. 

My ploughman he com^s hame at 
e'en. 
He's aften wat and weary ; 
Cast off the wat, put on the dry, 
And gae to bed, my Dearie ! 
Up wi't a', etc. 



I will wash my ploughman's hose, 
And I will dress his o'erlay ; 

I will mak my ploughman's bed, 
And cheer him late and early. 
Up wi't a', etc. 

I hae been east, I hae been west, 
I hae been at Saint Johnston, 

The bonniest sight that e'er I saw 
Was the ploughman laddie dancin. 
Up wi't a', etc. 

Snaw-white stockins on his legs, 
And siller buckles glancin' ; 

A gude blue bannet on his head, 
And O, but he was handsome ! 
Up wi't a', etc. 

Commend me to the barn-yard. 
And the corn-mou', man; 

I never gat my coggie fou 
Till I met wi' the ploughman. 
Up wi't a', etc. 



THE CARLES OF DYSART. 

Tune—" Hey, ca'' thro\''^ 

Up wi' the carles of Dysart, 

And the lads o' Buckhaven, 
And the kimmers o' Largo, 
And the lasses o' Leven. 
Hey, ca* thro', ca' thro', 

For we hae mickle ado ; 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro'. 
For we hae mickle ado. 

We hae tales to tell, 
And we hae sangs to sing. 

We hae pennies to spend. 
And we hae pints to briug. 

We'll live a' our days, 

And them that come behin. 
Let them do the like. 
And spend the gear they win. 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 

For we hae mickle ado, 
Hey, ca thro', ca' thro', 
For we hae mickle ado. 



COCK UP YOUR BEAVER. 



343 



WEARY FA' YOU, DUNCAN 
GRAY. 

Tune— "Pit ?ican Gray.'"' 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha. the girdin o't ! 
When a' the lave gae to their play, 
Then I maun sit tlie lee-lang day. 
And jog the cradle wi' my tae, 

And a' for the girdin o't. 

Bonnie was the Lammas moon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Glowrin' a' the hills aboon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
The girdin brak, the beast cam down, 
I tint my curch, and baith my shoon, 
Ah ! Duncan, ye're an unco loon — 

Wae on the bad girdin' o't! 

But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith, 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Ise bless you wi' my hindmost 
breath — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith, 
The beast again can bear us baith, 
And auld Mess John will mend the 
skaith, 

And clout the bad girdin o't. 

MY HOGGIE. 

Tune — "TTTiat will I do gin my Hoggie 
die ? " 

What will I do gin my Hoggie die? 

My joy, my pride, my Hoggie! 
My only beast, I had na mae, 

And vow but I was vogie ! 

The lee-lang night we watch'd the 
fauld, 

Me and my faithfu' doggie ; 
We heard not but the roaring linn, 

Amang the braes sae scroggie ; 

' But the howlet cry'd frae the castle 
wa', 
The blitter frae the boggie, 
The tod reply 'd upon the hill, 
I trembled for my Hoggie. 



When day did daw, and cocks did 
craw, 

The morning it wasfoggie; 
An unco tyke lap o'er the dyke, 

And maist has kill'd my Hoggie. 

WHERE HAE ITE BEEN. 

Tune—" Killiecrankie.'''' 
Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? 

Where hae ye been sae brankie, O? 
O, where hae ye been sae braw, lad? 

Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O. 
An' ye hae been whare I hae been. 

Ye had na been so cantie, O ; 
An' ye had seen what I had seen, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 

I fought at land, I fought at sea; 

At hame I fought my auntie, O ; 
But I met the Devil an' Dundee, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 
The bauld Pictur fell in a f urr. 

An' Clavers got a clankie, O ; 
Or I had fed an Athole gled. 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 

COCK UP YOUR BEAVER. 

Tune—" Cock tip your beaver.''' 

When first my brave Johnnie lad, 

Came to this town. 
He had a blue bonnet 

That wanted the crown ; 
But now he has gotten 

A hat and a feather, — 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad. 

Cock up your beaver! 

Cock up your beaver. 

And cock it fu' sprush, 
We'll over the border 

And gie them a brush ; 
There's somebody there 

We'll teach better behavior — 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad. 

Cock up your beaver! 

THE HERON BALLADS. 

FIRST BALLAD. 

Whom wiU you send to London town, 
To Parliament and a' that? 

Or wha in a' the country round 
The best deserves to fa' that ? 



344 



THE ELECTION. 



For a' that, an' a' that, 
Thro' Galloway and a' that ! 
Where is the laird or belted 

knight 
That best deserves to fa' that? 

Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett, 

And wha is't never saw that? 
Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree meets 
And has a doubt of a' that ? 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
The independent patriot. 
The honest man, an' a' that. 

Tho' wit and worth in either sex, 
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that ; 
Wi' dukes an' lords let Selkirk mix, 
And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
The independent commoner 
Shall be the man for a' that. 

But why should we to nobles jouk, 

And is't against the law that? 
For why, a lord may be a gouk, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
A lord may be a lousy loun, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 

A beardless boy comes o'er the hills, 

Wi' uncle's purse an' a' that ; 
But we'll liae ane f rae 'mang oursels, 
A man we ken, an' a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
For we're not to be bought an' 

sold 
Like naigs, an'nowt, an' a' that. 

Then let us drink the Stewartry, 

Kerroughtree's laird, an' a' that, 
Our representative to be, 
For weel he's worthy a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
A House of Commons such as 

he. 
They would be blest that saw 
that, 



THE ELECTION. 

SECOND BALLAD. 

Fy, let US a' to Kirkcudbright, 

For there will be bickerin' there, 
For Murray's light-horse are to 
muster, 

And, O, how the heroes will swear : 
An' there will be Murray commander, 

And Gordon the battle to win ; 
Like brothers they'll stand by each 
other, 

Sae knit in alliance an' kin. 

And there will be black-lippet John 
nie, 

The tongue o' the trump to them 
a'; 
And he gat na hell for his haddin' 

The Deil gets na justice ava'; 
An' there will be Kempleton's birkie, 

A boy no sae black at the bane, 
But, as for his fine nabob fortune, 

We'll e'en let the subject alane. 

An' there will be Wigton's new sher- 
iff, 
Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped. 
She's gotten the heart of a Bushby, 
But, Lord, what's become o' the 
head? 
An' there will be Cardoness, Esquire, 

Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes ; 
A wight that will weather damna- 
tion, 
For the Devil the prey will despise. 

An'there will be Douglasses doughty. 

New christening towns far and 
near! 
Abjuring their democrat doings. 

By kissing the — o' a peer ; 
An' there will be Kenmure sae gen'r- 
ous 

Whose honor is proof to the storm, 
To save them from stark reprobation 

He lent them his name to the firm. 

But we winna mention Redcastle, 
The body e'en let him escape ! 

He'd venture the gallows for siller. 
An' twere na the cost o' the rape. 



1 



AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 



345 



An' where is our King's lord lieuten- 
ant. 

Sae fam'd for his gratef u' return ? 
The billie is gettin' his questions, 

To say in St. Stephen's the morn. 

An' there will be lads o' the gospel, 
Muirhead wha's as good as he's 
true ; 
An' there will be Buittle's apostles, 
Wha's more o' the black than the 
blue; 

An' there will be folk from St. 
Mary's, 
A house o' great merit and note. 
The deil ane but honors them 
highly,— 
The deil ane will gie them his vote ! 

An' there will be wealthy young 
Richard, 
Dame Fortune should hing liy the 
neck; 
For prodigal, thriftless bestowing — 

His merit had won him respect : 
An' there will be rich brother nabobs, 
Though nabobs, yet men of the 
first; 
An' there will be Collieston's 
whiskers. 
An' Quintin, o' lads not the worst. 

An' there will be stampr-offlce 
Johnnie, 

Tak tent how ye purchase a dram ; 
An' there will be gay Cassencarrie, 

An' there will be gleg Colonel 

Tarn ; [tree, 

An' there will be trusty Kerrough- 

Whose honor was ever his law, 
If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel, 

His worth might be sample for a'. 

An' can we forget the auld major, 
Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the 
Greys ; 
Ourflatt'ry we'll keep for some other. 

Him only 'tis justice to praise. 
An' there will be maiden Kilkerran, 
And also Barskimming's gude 
knight ; 
An' there will be roarin' Birtwhistle, 



Wha, luckily, roars in the right. 
An' there, frae the Niddisdale's 
borders, [droves ; 

Will mingle the Maxwells in 

Teugh Johnnie, staunch Geordie, an' 

Walie, [loaves ; 

That griens for the fishes an' 
An' there will be Logan MacDowall, 

Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there. 
An' also the wild Scot o' Galloway, 

Sodgerin', gunpowder Blair. 

Then hey the chaste interest o' 
Broughton, 
An' hey for the blessings 'twill 
bring ! [mons, 

It may send Balmaghie to the Com- 
In Sodom 'twould make him a 
King; 
An' hey for the sanctified Murray, 
Our land who wi' chapels has 
stor'd ; 
He f ounder'd his horse among harlots, 
But gied the auld naig to the Lord. 

AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 

THIRD BALLAD. (MAY, 1796.) 

Wha will buy my troggin, 

Fine election ware ; 
Broken trade o' Broughton, 
A' in high repair. 
Buy braw troggin, 

Frae the banks o' Dee ; 
Wha wants troggin 
Let him come to me. 

There's a noble Earl's 

Fame and high renown, 
For an auld sang — 
It's thought the gudes were 
stown 
Buy braw troggin, etc. 

Here's the worth o' Broughton 
In a needle's ee ; 
Here's a reputation 
Tint by Balmaghie. 
Buy braw troggin, etc. 

Here's an honest conscience 

Might a prince adorn ; 
Frae the downs o' Tinwald — 

So was never worn. 
Buy braw troggin, etc 



34^ 



JOHN BUSHBY'S lamentation. 



Here's its stuff and lining, 

Cardoness' head; 
Fine for a sodger 

A' the wale o' lead. 
Buy braw troggin, etc. 

Here's a little wadset 

Buittle's scrap o' truth, 
Pawn'd in a gin-shop 

Quenching holy drouth. 
Buy braw troggin, etc. 

Here's armorial bearings 

Frae the manse o' Urr ; 
The crest, an auld crab-apple 

Rotten at the core. 
Buy braw troggin, etc. 

Here is Satan's pictures, 

Like a bizzard gled. 
Pouncing poor Redcastle 

Sprawlin' as a taed. 
Buy braw troggin, etc. 

Here's the worth and wisdom 

Colliestou can boast ; 
By a thievish midge 

They had been nearly lost. 
Buy braw troggin, etc. 

Here is Murray's fragments 

O' the ten commands ; 
Gifted by black Jock 

To get them aff his hands. 
Buy braw troggin, etc. 

Saw ye e'er sic troggin ? 

If to buy ye're slack, 
Hornie's turnin' chapman, — 

He'll buy a' the pack. 
Buy braw troggin, etc. 

JOHN BUSHBY'S LAMEN- 
TATION. 

TuNE-r-" The Babes in the Wood.'''' 
'TwAS in the seventeen hunder year 

O' grace and ninety-five. 
That year I was the Vae'est man 

O' ony man alive. 

In March the three-and-twentieth 
morn, 

The sun raise clear and bright ; 
But oh I was a waef u' man 

;Ere to-fa' o' the night. 



Yerl Gallowa;^ lang did rule this land, 
Wi' equal right and fame, 

And thereto was his kinsman join'd 
The Murray's noble name. 

Yerl Galloway lang did rule the land, 
Made me the judge o' strife ; 

But now Yerl Galloway's scepter's 
broke. 
And eke my hangman's knife. 

'Twas by the banks o' bonnie Cree, 
Beside Kirkcudbright's towers. 

The Stewart and the Murray there 
Did muster a' their powers. 

The Murray, on the auld gray yaud, 
Wi' winged spurs did ride, 

That auld gray yaud, yea, Nidsdale 
rade, 
He staw upon Nidside. 

An' there had na been the yerl him- 
sel', 

O there had been nae play ; 
But Garlics was to London gane, 

And sae the kye might stray. 

And there was Balmaghie, I ween, 
In front rank he wad shine ; 

But Balmaghie had better been 
Drinking Madeira wine. 

Frae the Glenkens came to our aid, 

A chief o' doughty deed ; 
In case that worth should wanted be, 

O' Kenmure we had need. 

And by our banners march'd Muir- 
head, 
And Buittle was na slack ; 
Whase haly priesthood nane can 
stain. 
For wha can dye the black ? 

And there sae grave Squire Cardon- 
ness, 

Look'd on till a' was done ; 
Sae, in the tower of Cardonness, 

A howlet sits at noon. 

And there led I a Bushby clan, 

My gamesome billie Will ; 
And my son Maitland, wise as brave, 
' M^ footsteps foljow'd still. 



YE JACOBITES BY NAME. 



347 



The Douglas and the Heron's name 
We set naught to their score ; 

The Douglas and the Heron's name 
Had felt our weight before. 

But Douglasses o' weight had we, 

The pair o" lusty lairds, 
For building cot-houses sae famed. 

And christening kail-yards. 



And there Redcastle drew his sword 
That ne'er was stained wi' gore. 

Save on a wanderer lame and blind, 
To drive him frae his door. 

And last came creeping Collieston, 
Was mair in fear than wrath ; 

Ae knave was constant in his mind, 
To keep that knave frae scaith. 



YE SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 

Tune—" Shawnboy.'*^ 

Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, 

To follow the noble vocation ; 
Y^our thrifty old mother has scarce such another 

To sit in that honor'd station. 
I've little to say, but only to pray, 

As praying's the ton of your fashion ; 
A prayer from the Muse you well may excuse, 

'Tis seldom her favorite passion. 

Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide. 

Who marked each element's border ; 
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim, 

Whose sovereign statute is order ; 
Within this dear mansion may wayward contention 

Or withered envy ne'er enter ; 
May secrecy round be the mystical bound. 

And brotherly love be the center ! 



YE JACOBITES BY NAME. 

Tune—" Ye Jacobites by name.'''' 

Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear; 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear ; 
Ye Jacobites by name. 
Your f antes I will proclaim. 
Your doctrines I maun blame — 
You shall hear. 

What is right and what is wrang, by the law, by the law ? 
What is right and what is wrang by the law ? 
What is right and what is wrang ? 
A short sword and a lang, 
A weak arm, and a Strang 
For to draw. 

What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar, fam'd afar, 
What makes heroic strife fam'd afar ? 
What makes heroic strife ? 
To whet th' assassin's knife. 
Or hunt a parent's life 
Wi' bludie war. 



348 



THE COLLIER LADDIE. 



Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the state ; 
Then let your schemes alone, in the state ; 
Then let your schemes alone, 
Adore the rising sun, 
And leave a man undone 
To his fate. 



SONG— AH, CHLOmS. 

Tune—" Major Graham.'''' 
Ah, Chloris, since it may na be, 

That thou of love wilt hear; 
If from the lover thou maun flee, 

Yet let the friend be dear. 

Altho' I love my Chloris mair 
Than ever tongue could tell ; 

My passion I will ne'er declare, 
I'll say, I wish thee well. 

Tho' a' ray daily care thou art. 
And a' my nightly dream, 

I'll hide the struggle in my heart, 
And say it is esteem. 

WHAN I SLEEP I DREAM. 

Whan I sleep I dream. 

Whan I wauk I'm eerie, 
Sleep I canna get. 

For thinkin' o' my dearie. 

Lanely night comes on, 

A' the house are sleeping, 
I think on the bonnie lad 
That has my heart a keeping. 
Ay waukin O, waukin ay and 

wearie, 
Sleep I canna get, for thinkin' o' 
my dearie. 

Lanely night comes on, ^ 
A' the house are sleeping, 

I think on my bonnie lad, 
An' I bleer my een wi' greetin' ! 
Ay waukin, etc. 

KATHARINE JAFFRAY. 

There liv'd a lass in yonder dale, 
And down in yonder glen, O ; 

And Katharine Jaffray was her name, 
Weel known to many men, O. 

Out came the Lord of Lauderdale, 
Out frae the south countrie, O, 



All for to court this pretty maid, 
Her bridegroom for to be, O. 

He's tell'd her father and mother 
baith. 

As I hear sindry say, O ; 
But he has na' tell'd the lass hersel' 

Till on her wedding day, O. 

Tfien came the Laird o' Lochinton 
Out frae the English border, 

All for to court this pretty maid. 
All mounted in good order. 

THE COLLIER LADDIE. 

O WHARE live ye my bonnie lass, 
And tell me how they ca' ye ? 

My name, she says, is Mistress Jean, 
And I follow my Collier laddie. 

see ye not yon hills and dales 
The sun shines on sae brawly : 

They a' are mine, and they shall be 
thine, 
If ye'U leave your Collier laddie. 

And ye shall gang in rich attire, 
Weel buskit up f u' gaudy ; 

And ane to wait at every hand, 
If ye'll leave your Collier laddie. 

Tho' ye had a' the sun shines on, 
And the earth conceals sae lowly ; 

1 would turn my back on you and it 

a'. 
And embrace my Collier laddie. 

I can win my five pennies in a day. 
And spend it at night full brawlie ; 

I can mak my bed in the Collier's 
neuk, 
And lie down wi' my Collier laddie, 

Loove for loove is the bargain forme. 
Tho' the wee cot-house should haud 
me; 



THE HEATHER WAS BLOOMING. 



349 



And the warld before me to win my 
bread, 
And fare fa' my Collier laddie. 

WHEN I THINK ON THE 
HAPPY DAYS. 

When I think on the happy days 
I spent \vi' you, my dearie ; 

And now what lands between us lie, 
How can I be but eerie ! 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours 
As ye were wae and weary ! 

It was na sae ye glinted by 
When I was wi' my dearie. 

YOUNG JAMIE, PRIDE OF A' 
THE PLAIN. 

Tune—" Tlie Carlin o' the Glen.'''' 
Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain, 
Sae gallant and sae gay a swain ; 



Tho' a' our lasses he did rove, 

And reign'd resistless King of 

Love : 
But now wi' sighs and starting 

tears, 
He strays amang the woods and 

briers ; 
Or in the glens and rocky caves 
His sad complaining dowie raves : 

I wha sae late did range and rove, 
And changed with every moon my 

love: 
I little thought the time was near, 
Repentance I should buy sae dear ; 
The slighted maids my torment 

see. 
And laugh at a' the pangs I dree ; 
While she, my cruel, scornfu' fair, 
Forbids me e'er to see her mair 1 



THE HEATHER WAS BLOOMING. 

The heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn, 
Our lads gaed a hunting, ae day at the dawn, 
O'er moors and o'er mosses and monie a glen. 
At length they disco ver'd a bonnie moor-hen. 

I red you beware at the hunting, young men; 

I red you beware at the hunting, young men ; 

Tak some on the wing, and some as they spring, 

But cannily steal on a bonnie moor-hen. 

Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather bells, 
Her colors betray'd her on j^on mossy fells ; 
Her plumage out-lustered the pride o the spring, 
And O ! as she wanton'd gay on the wing. 
I red, etc. 

Auld Phoebus himsel, as he peep'd o'er the hill. 
In spite at her plumage he tried his skill : 
He level'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae — 
His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where she lay. 
I red, etc. 

They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill, 
The best of our lads wi' the best o' their skill; 
But still as the fairest she sat in their sight, 
Then, Avhirr ! she was over, a mile at a flight. 
I red, etc. 



WAE IS MY HEART. 

Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my ee 
Lang, lang, joy's been a stranger to me; 



350 



GUIDE EN TO YOU, KIMMER. 



Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear, 

And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear. 

Love, thou hast pleasures ; and deep hae I loved ; 
Love, thou hast sorrows ; and sair hae I proved : 
But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast, 
I can feel its throb bings will soon be at rest. 

O if I were where happy I hae been ; 
Down by yon stream and yon bonnie castle green: 
For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, 
Wha wad soon dry the tear frae Phillis's ee. 

EPPIE M'NAB. 

O SAW ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 
O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ? 
She's down in the yard, she's kissin' the laird. 
She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab, 
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab! 
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab! 
Whate'er thou hast done, be it late, be it soon, 
Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab. 

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ? 
What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 
She lets thee to wit, that she has thee forgot, 
And forever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab. 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, 
Ahou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Rab. 



AN' O ! MY EPPIE. 
An' O ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie! 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair ? 
By love, and by beauty, 
By law, and by duty, 
I swear to be true to 

My Eppie Adair! 

An' O ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie! 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair ? 
A' pleasure exile me, 
Dishonor defile me. 
If e'er I beguile thee, 

My Eppie Adair ! 

GUIDE'EN TO YOU, KIMMER. 

Guide'en to you, Kimmer, 
And how do ye do ? 



Hiccup, quo' Kimmer, 
The better that I m fou. 
We're a' noddin, nid nid noddin, 
We're a' noddin at our house at 
hame. 

Kate sits i' the neuk, 

Suppin' hen broo ; 
Deil tak Kate 

An' she be a noddin too! 
We're a noddin, etc. 

How's a' wi' you, Kimmer, 

And how do ye fare ? 
A pint o' the best o't. 

And twa pints mair. 
We're a' noddin, etc. 

How's a' wi' you, Kimmer, 

And how do ye thrive ; 
How many bairns hae ye ? 

Quo' Kimmer, I hae five. 
We're a' noddin, etc. 



THE LADDIES BY THE BANKS O NITH. 



351 



Are they a' Johnny's ? 

Eh ! atweel no : 
Twa o' them were gotten 

When Johnny was awa. 
We're a' noddin, etc. 

Cats like milk, 
And dogs like broo ; 

Lads like lasses weel, 
And lassies lads too. 
We're a' noddin, etc. 

O THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN 
MARRIED. 

THAT I had ne'er been married, 
I wad never had nae care ; 

Now I've gotten wife and bairns. 

An' they cry crowdie ever mair. 

Ance crowdie, twice crowdie, 

Three times crowdie in a day ; 
Gin ye crowdie ony more, 
Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away. 

Waef ul want and hunger fley me, 
Glowrin by the hallen en' ; 

Sair I fecht them at the door. 
But ay I'm eerie they come ben. 
Ance crowdie, etc. 

THERE'S NEWS, LASSES. 
There's news, lasses, new^s, 

Gude news I've to tell, 
There's a boat fu' o' lads 
Come to our town to sell. 
The wean wants a cradle. 

An' the cradle wants a cod, 
An" I'll no gang to my bed 
Until T get a nod. 

Father, quo' she, Mither, quo' she. 

Do what ye can, 
I'll no gang to my bed 

Till I get a man. 
The wean, etc. 

1 hae as good a craft rig 

As made o' yird and stane; 
And waly fu' the ley-crap 
For I maun till'd again. 
The wean, etc. 

SCROGGAM. 
There was a wife wonn'd in Cock- 
pen, 

Scroggam ; 



She brew'd good ale for gentlemen, 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by 

me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 

The gudewife's dochter fell in a 

fever, 

Scroggam ; 
The priest o' the parish fell in anither. 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by 

me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 

They laid the twa' i' the bed the- 

gither, 

Scroggam ; 
That the heat o' the tane might cool 

the titlier, 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 

FRAE THE FRIENDS AND 
LAND I LOVE. 

Frae the friends and land I love. 

Driven by Fortune's felly spite, 
Frae my best belov'd I rove. 

Never mair to taste delight; 
Never mair maun hope to find 

Ease frae toil, relief frae care : 
When remembrance wrecks the mind. 

Pleasures but unveil despair. 

Brightest climes shall mirk appear, 

Desert ilka blooming shore. 
Till the Fates, nae mair severe. 

Friendship, love, and peace, re- 
store ; 
Till revenge, wi' laurel'd head, 

Bring our banish'd hame again ; 
And ilka loyal, bonnie lad 

Cross the seas and win his ain. 

THE LADDIES BY THE BANKS 
O' NITH. 

ELECTION BALI^D, 1789. 

Tune—" Up and vaur them a\" 

The laddies by the banks o' Nith 

Wad trust liis Grace wi' a', Jamie, 
But he'll sair them as he sair'd the 
king- 
Turn tail and rin awa, Jamie. 
Up and waur them. a', Jamie, 
Up and waur them a' ; 



352 



SONG. 



The Johnstons hae the guidin' o't 
Ye turncoat Whigs, awa. 

The day he stude his country's friend, 
Or gied her faes a claw, Jamie, 

Or frae puir man a blessin' wan, 
That day the duke ne'er saw, Jamie. 

But wha is he, his country's boast? 

Like him there is na twa, Jamie ; 
There's no a callant tents the kye. 

But kens o' Westerha', Jamie. 

To end the wark, here's Whistlebirk, 
Lang may his whistle blaw, Jamie ; 

And Maxwell true o' sterling blue, 
And we'll be Johnstons a', Jamie. 

THE BONNIE LASS OF 
ALBANY. 

Tune — " Mary''s dream.'''' 

My heart is wae, and unco wae. 
To think upon the raging sea. 

That roars between her gardens green 
And the bonnie Lass of Albany. 

This lovely maid's of royal blood 
That ruled Albion's kingdoms 
three. 
But oh, alas, for her bonnie face. 
They hae wrang'd the Lass of 
Albany. 

In the rolling tide of spreading Clyde 
There sits an isle of high degree, 

And a town of fame whose princely 
name 
Should grace the Lass of Albany. 

But there's a youth, a witless youth, 
That fills the place where she 
should be; 
We'll send him o'er to his native 
shore. 
And bring our ain sweet Albany. 

Alas the day, and woe the day, 
A false usurper wan the gree, 



Who now commands the towers and 
lands — 
The royal right of Albany. 

We'll daily pray, we'll nightly pray, 
On bended knees most ferventlie. 

The time may come, with pipe and 
drum 
We'll welcome hame fair Albany. 



SONG. 

Tune — " Maggie Lauder.''^ 

When first I saw fair Jeanie's face, 

I couldna tell what ailed me. 
My heart went fluttering pit-a-pat, 

My een they almost failed me. 
She's aye sae neat, sae trim, sae tight, 

All grace does round her hover, 
Ae look deprived me o' my heart. 

And I became a lover. 
She's aye, aye sae blithe, sae gay, 

She's aye sae blithe and cheerie; 
She's aye sae bonnie, blithe, and gay, 

O gin I were her dearie ! 

Had I Dundas's whole estate. 

Or Hopetoun's wealth to shine in ; 
Did warlike laurels crown my brow. 

Or humbler bays entwining — 
I'd lay them a' at Jeanie's feet. 

Could I but hope to move her, 
And prouder than a belted knight, 

I'd be my Jeanie's lover. 
She's aye, aye sae blithe, sae 
gay, etc. 

But sair I fear some happier swain 
Has gained sweet Jeanie's favor : 
If so, may every bliss be hers. 

Though I maun never have her: 
But gang she east, or gang she west, 
'Twixt Forth and Tweed all over. 
While men have eyes, or ears, or 
taste, 
She'll always find a lover. 
She's aye, aye sae blithe, sae 
gay, etc. 



APPENDIX. 



The following Elegy Extempore Verses to Oamn Hamilton, and Versicles 
on Sign-posts, now for the first time published, are extracted, it is supposed, 
from the copy of his Commonplace Book which Burns presented to Mrs. 
Dunlop of Dunlop. The copy, after having been in the hands of several 
persons, and at each remove denuded of certain pages, came into the pos- 
session of Mr. Stillie, bookseller, Princes Street, Edinburgh, some years 
since, and is now the property of Mr. MacMillan. Besides the following 
poems, it contains two stanzas never before published of the Epitaph on 
Robert Fergusson, versions of There was a Lad was horn in Kyle, and Gordon 
Castle, differing somewhat from those commonly printed. In the Common- 
place JBook, the Elegy is thus introduced: — " The following poem is the work 
of some hapless unknown son of the Muses, who deserved a better fate. 
There is a great deal of "The Voice of Cona," in his solitary mournful 
notes ; and had the sentiments been clothed in Shenstone's language, they 
would have been no discredit even to that elegant poet.'" Burns, it will be 
seen, does not claim the authorship, and, from internal evidence, the Editor 
is of opinion that it was not written by him. Still, the Elegy, so far at least 
as the Editor is aware, exists nowhere else ; and if Burns did not actually 
compose it, he at least thought it worthy of being copied with his own 
hand into a book devoted almost exclusively to his own compositions. 
Even if it were certain that Burns was not the author, still, the knowledge 
that he admired it, and that through his agency it alone exists, is considered 
sufficient excuse for its admission here. The Extempore Verses to Gavin 
Hamilton are as certainly Burns's as is Death and Dr. Hornbook, or the Ad- 
dress to the Deil. The dialect, the turn of phrase, the glittering surface of 
sarcasm, with the strong under-current of sense, and the peculiar off-hand 
impetuosity of idea and illustration, unmistakably indicate Burns's hand, 
and his only. In the Commonplace Book, no date is given ; but from the 
terms of the two closing stanzas, it would appear that the voyage to 
Jamaica was in contemplation at the period of its composition. The last 
stanza is almost identical in thought and expression with the closing lines 
of the well-known Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, which was written at that' 
time, and which appeared in the first edition of the Poems printed at 
Kilmarnock. 

The Versicles on Sign-posts have the following introduction: — " The ever- 
lasting surliness of a Lion, Saracen's head, etc., or the unchanging bland- 
ness of the Landlord welcoming a traveler, on some sign-posts, would be 
no bad similes of the constant affected fierceness of a Bully, or the eternal 
simper of a Frenchman or a Fiddler." The Versicles themselves are of 
little worth, and are indebted entirely to their paternity for their appear- 
ance here. 

2$ 353 



354 



APPENDIX. 



ELEGY. 

Strait is the spot and green the sod, 
From whence my sorrows flow : 

And soundly sleeps the ever dear 
Inhabitant below. 

Pardon my transport, gentle shade, 
While o'er the turf I bow ! 

Thy earthly house is circumscrib'd, 
And solitary now. 

Not one poor stone to tell thy name, 
Or make thy virtues known : 

But what avails to me, to thee, 
The sculpture of a stone ? 

I'll sit me down upon this turf. 
And wipe away this tear : 

The chill blast passes swiftly by, 
And flits around thy bier. 

Dark is the dwelling of the Dead, 
And sad their house of rest : 

Low lies the head by Death's cold 
arm 
In awful fold embrac'd. 

I saw the grim Avenger stand 

Incessant by thy side ; 
Unseen by thee, his deadly breath 

Thy lingering frame destroy'd. 

Pale grew the roses on thy cheek. 
And wither'd was thy bloom, 

Till the slow poison brought thy 
youth 
Untimely to the tomb. 

Thus wasted are the ranks of men. 
Youth, Health, and Beauty fall : 

The ruthless ruin spreads around. 
And overwhelms us all. 

Behold where round thy narrow 
house 

The graves unnumber'd lie ! 
The multitudes that sleep below 

Existed but to die. 

Some, with the tottering steps of Age 
Trod down the darksome way : 

And some, in yorth's lamented 
prime, 
Like thee, were torn away. 



Yet these, however hard their fate. 
Their native earth receives: 

Amid their weeping friends they 
died. 
And fill their fathers' graves. 

From thy lov'd friends when first thy 
heart 

Was taught by Heaven to flow : 
Far, far remov'd, the ruthless stroke 

Surpris'd and laid thee low. 

At the last limits of our isle, 
Wash'd by the western wave, 
Touch'd by thy fate, a thoughtful 
bard 
Sits lonely on thy grave. 

Pensive he eyes, before him spread, 
The deep, outstretch'd and vast ; 

His mourning notes are borne away 
Along the rapid blast. 

And while, amid the silent Dead 
Thy hapless fate he mourns. 

His own long sorrows freshly bleed, 
And all his grief returns. 

Like thee, cut off in early youth 
And flower of beauty's pride. 

His friend, his first and only joy. 
His much loved Stella, died. 

Him, too, the stern impulse of Fate 

Resistless bears along ; 
And the same rapid tide shall whelm 

The poet and the Song. 

The tear of pity which he shed, 

He asks not to receive ; 
Let but his poor remains be laid 

Obscurely in the grave. 

His grief -worn heart, with truest joy 
Shall meet the welcome shock: 

His airy harp shall lie unstrung 
And silent on the rock. 

O, my dear maid, my Stella, when 
Shall this sick period close : 

And lead the solitary bard 
To his beloved repose ? 



APPENDIX. 



355 



EXTEMPORE. 

TO MR. GAVIN HAMILTON. 

To you, Sir, this summons I've sent, 
Pray whip till the pownie is frae- 
thing, 

But if you demand what I want, 
I honestly answer you, naething. 

Ne'er scorn a poor Poet like me, 
For idly just living and breathing. 

While people of every degree 
Are busy employed about — nae- 
thing. 

Poor Centum-per-centum may fast, 
And grumble his hurdles their 
claitliing ; 
He'll find, when the balance is cast, 
' He's gane to the devil for — nae- 
thing. 

The courtier cringes and bows, 
Ambition has likewise its play- 
thing ; 

A coronet beams on his brows : 
And what is a coronet ? — naething. 

Some quarrel the Presbyter gown. 
Some quarrel Episcopal graithing, 

But every good fellow will own 
Their quarrel is all about — nae- 
thing. 

The lover may sparkle and glow, 
Approaching his bonnie bit gay 
i thing : 

! But marriage will soon let him know 
j He's gotten a buskit up naething. 

' The Poet may jingle and rhyme 
I In hopes of a laureate wreathing, 
1 And when he has wasted his time 
He's kindly rewarded with nae- 
thing. 

The thundering bully may rage. 
And swagger and swear like a 
heathen ; 
' But collar him fast, I'll engage. 

You'll find that his courage is nae- 
thing. 

Last night with a feminine whig, 
A Poet she could na put faith in. 

But soon we grew lovingly big, 
I taught her, her terrors were nae- 
thing. 



Her whigship was wonderful 
pleased. 
But charmingly tickled wi' ae 
thing ; 
Her fingers I lovingly squeezed. 
And kissed her and promised her 
— naething. 

The priest anathemas may threat, — 
Predicament, Sir, that we're baith 
in; 

But when honor's reveille is beat. 
The holy artillery's naething. 

And now, I must mount on the wave, 
My voyage perhaps there is death 
in: 

But what of a watery grave ? 
The drowning a Poet is naething. 

And now, as grim death's in my 
thought, 
To you. Sir, I make this bequeath- 
ing: 
My service as long as ye've aught, 
And my friendship, by G — , when 
ye've naething. 

VERSICLES ON SIGN-POSTS. 

He looked 
Just as your Sign-post lions do. 
As fierce, and quite as harmless too. 

PATIENT STUPIDITY. 

So heavy, passive to the tempests* 

shocks. 
Strong on the Sign-post stands the 

stupid Ox. 



His face with smile eternal drest, 
Just like the Landlord to his guest, 
High as they hang with creaking din, 
To index out the Country Inn. 



A head, pure, sinless quite of brain 

and soul. 
The very image of a Barber's Poll ; 
It shows a human face and wears a 

wig. 
And looks, when well preserved, 

amazing big. 



GLOSSARY. 



A', all. 

Aback, away from. 

Abeigh, at a shy distance. 

Aboon, above, 

Abread, abroad, in sight. 

Abreed, i7i breadth. 

Abusin', abusing. 

Acquent, acquainted. 

A'-day, all day. 

Adle, putrid water. 

Advisement, advice. 

Ae. one ; only. 

Aflf, off. 

Aff-hand, at once. 

Aff-loof, extemporaneously. 

Afore, before. 

Aften, often. 

A-gley, off the right line. 

Aiblins, perhaps. 

Aik, an oak. 

Aiken, oaken. 

Ain, own. 

Air, early. 

Airl-penny, earnest money. 

Airles, earnest money. 

Aim, iron. 

Aims, irons. 

Airt, direction ; the point from, v^ch the 

wind blotcs ; to direct. 
Airted, directed. 
Aith, an oath. 
Aiths, oaths. 
Aits, oats. 
Aiver, an old horse. 
Aizle, a hot cinder. 
Ajee, to the one side. 
Alake I alas ! 
Alang. along. 
Amaist, almost. 
Amang, among. 
An\ and. 
An's, ajid is. 
Ance, once. 
Ane, one. 
Anes, ones. 
Anither, another. 
Artf u', artful. 
Ase, ashes. 

Asklent, obliquely ; aslant. 
Asteer, astir. 
A'thegither, altogether. 
Athort, athvart. 
Atween, betiveen. 
Aught, eight. 
Aughteen, eighteen. 
Aughtlins, anything, in the least. 
Auld. old. 
Auld'g, as old as. 



Aulder, older. 
Auldfarran, sagaciOU& 
Aunious, alms. 
Ava, at all. 
Awa, away. 
Awe, to owe. 
Awee, a little time. 
Awfu', awful. 
Awkart, awkward. 
Awnie, bearded. 
Aye, always. 
Ayont, beyond. 

BA', a ball. 

Babie clouts, baby-clothes. 

Backets, buckets. 

Bade, endured ; desired. 

Baggie (dim. of bag), the stomach. 

Bainie, bony, muscular. 

Bairns, children. 

Bairntime, a family of children. 

Baith, both. 

Bakes, biscuits. 

Ballats, ballads. 

Ban', band. 

Banes, bones. 

Bang, a stroke. An unco bang, a heavf 

stroke or effort. 
Bannet, a bonnet. 
Bannock, a cake of oatmeal bread. 
Bardie, dim. of bard. 
Barefit, barefooted. 
Barkit, barked. 
Barkin, barking. 
Barm, yeast. 
Barmie, of, or like barm. 
Batch, a party. 
Batts, the botts. 
Bauckie-bird, the bat. 
Baudrons, a cat. 
Bauks, cro.'is-beams. 
Bauk-en\ end of a bank or cross-beam. 
Bauld, bold. 
Bauldly, boldly. 
Baumy, balmy. 
Bawk, ati open space in a cornfield, gen- 

erally a ridge left untilled. 
Baws'nt, having a white stripe dovm the 

face. 
Bawtie, a familiar name for a dog. 
Be't, be it. 
Bear, barley. 
Beastie, dim. of beast. 
Beets, adds fuel to fire. 
Befa', befall. 
Behint, behind. 
Belang, belong to. 
Belang'd, belonged to. 



357 



358 



GLOSSARY. 



Beld, bald. 

Bellum, a noise, an attack. 

Bellyfu', bellyful. 

Belyve, by and by. 

Ben, into the spence or parlor. 

Benmost bore, the innermost recess, or 
hole. 

Bethankit, the grace after meat. 

Beuk, a book. 
Devirs pictured beuks, cards. 

Bicker, a wooden dish ; a few steps un- 
wittingly. 

Bid, to ivish, or ask. 

Bide, to stand, to endure. 

Biel, a habitation. 

Bield, shelter. 

Bien, plentiful ; comfortably. 

Big. to build. 

Bigg, to build. 

Bigs, builds. 

Biggin, building. 

Bill, a bull. 

Billie, a good fellow. 

Billies, yoiing felloios. 

Bings, heaps of anything, such as turnips, 
potatoes. 

Birdies, dim. of birds. 

Birk, the birch. 

Birks, bii-ches. 

Birken, birchen. 

Birken shaw, a sinall birch wood. 

Birkie, a spirited fellow. 

Birring, ^chirring. 

Birses, bristles. 

Bit, crisis. 

Bizzard gled, a kite. 

Bizz, a bustle. 

Bizzy busy. 

Bizzie, busy. 

Bizzies, buzzes. 

Black Bonnet, the elder. 

Blae, blue ; sharp, keen. 

Blastie, a term of contempt. 

Blastit, blasted, withered. 

Blate, shamefaced. 

Blather, bladder. 

Blaud, to slap ; a quantity of anything. 

Blaudin'. pelting. 

Blaw, to blow ; to brag. 

Blaws, blows. 

Blawn, blown. 

Blawn't. had blotvn it. 

Bleatin, bleating. 

Bleerit, bleared. 

Bleeze, a blaze. 

Bleezin, blazing. 

Blellum. an idle talking fellow. 

Blether, the bladder ; nonsense. 

Blethers, nonsense. 

Bleth'riu. talking idly. 

Blin-, blind. 

Blins, blinds. 

Blin"t, blinded. 

Blink, a blink o' rest, a short period of 
repose ; a short time ; a moment ; a 
look. 

Blinks, looks smilingly. 

Blinkers, a term of contempt ; pretty girls. 

Blinkin, smirkiiig. 

Blirt and bleary, fts of crying, 

Blittei', the mire snipe. 



Blue-gown, one of those beggars who get 
annually on the king's birthday a blue 
coat or gown ivith a badge. 
Blude, blood. 
Bluid, blood. 
Bludie, bloody. 
Bluidy, bloody, 
Blume, bloom. 

Bluntie, a sniveller, a stupid person. 
Blypes, large pieces. 
Bocked, vorr.ited. 
Boddle, a small coin. 
Bpggie, dim. of bog. 
Bogles, ghosts. 
Bonnie, beautifid. 

Bonnocks, thick cakes of oatmeal tyread. 
Boord, board. 
Boortrees, elder shrubs. 
Boost, must needs. 
Bore, a hole or rent. 
Bouk. a corpse. 
Bouses, drinks. 
Bow-hough"d. crook-thighed. 
Bow-kail, cabbage. 
Bow't, crooked. 
Brae, the slope of a hill. 
Braid, broad. 

Braid Scots, broad Scotch. 
Braid-claith, broad-cloth. 
Braik, a ki)id of harrow. 
Braing"t. reeled forward. 
Brak. did break. 
Brak's, broke his. 
Brankie, well attired. 
Branks, a kind of wooden curb for horses. 
Brany, brandy. 
Brash, sickness. 
Brats, rags. 
Brattle, a short race. 
Braw, handsome. 
Brawly, perfectly. 
Braxies, morbid sheep. 
Breastie, dim. of breast. 
Breastit, did spring up or forward, 
Brechan, a horse-collar. 
Breckan, fern. 
Bree, juice, liquid. 
Breeks, breeches. 
Brent, straight ; smooth, xuumnnkled. 
Brewin, brewing. 
Brief, a writing. 
Brig, bridge. 
Brither, brother. 
Brithers, brothers. 
Brock, a badger. 
Brogue, a trick. 
Broo, water ; broth. 
Brooses, 7-aces at coxintry weddings who 

shall Jirst reach the bridegroom's house 

on returning from church. 
Browst, as much malt liquor as is brewed 

at a time. 
Browster-wives, ale-hou^e tctves. 
Brugh, burgh. 
Brughs, boroughs. 
Brulzie, a broil. 
Brunstane. brimstone. 
Brunt, burned. 
Brust. burst. 
Buckie, dim. of buck. 
Buckskin, an inhabitant of Virginia. 



GLOSSARY. 



359 



Buff, to beat. 

Bughtin-time, the time of collecting the 
sheep m the pens to be milked. 

Buirdly, strong, impogirig-looking, tc^U- 
knit. 

Buke, book. 

Bum, to hum. 

Bum-clock, a beetle. 

Bumming, making a noise like a bee. 

Bummler. a blunderer. 

Bunker, a chest. 

Burdies. damsels. 

Bure. bore, did bear. 

Bums, streams. 

Bumie. dim. of bum. 

Bumevrin, L e. burn the xcind, a black- 
smith. 

Bur-thistle, the spear-thistle. 

Busking, dressing, decorating. 

Buskit, dressed. 

Busks, adorns. 

Buss, a bush. 

Bussle. a bustle. 

But. xcithout. 

But an* ben. kitchen and parlor. 

Bv. past : apart. 

By attour, in the neighborhood ; out- 
' sidle. 

Bj-ke, a multitude ; a bee-hive. 

CA\ to drive : a call. 

Ca"d. named : driven. 

Ca"s. calls. 

Ca't. called. 

Ca" throu*. to puAh fortoard. 

Cadger, a carrier. 

Cadie. a fellow. 

Caflf. chaff. 

Cairds. tirJcers. 

Calf- ward, a small indosure for calve*. 

Callans. boys. 

Caller, fresh. 

Callet, a trull. 

Cam. came. 

Cankert. cankered. 

Cankrie. cankered. 

C^nna. cannot. 

Cannie. carefully, softly. 
; Cannilie. dexterously, gently. 
' Cantie. in high spirits. 

Cantin", canting. 

Cantrip, a charm, a speU. 

Cape-stane. cope-stone. 

Caprin. cajjering. 

Careerin. cheerfully. 

Carl, a carle. 

Carlie, dim. of carle. 

Carlin, an old Koman. 

Cartes, cards. 

Cartie. dim. of cart. 

Caudrons. caldrons. 

Cauf. a falf. 

Cauk and heel, chalk and red day. 

Cauld. cold. 

Caulder. colder. 

Caups. frooden drinking vessels. 

Causey. rniiJ^^iray. 
I Cavie.'rj hen-roop. 

Chamer. cliamber, 
i Change-house, a tavern. 

Chap, a feUow. 



Chapman, a pedler. 

Chaup. a blow. 

Cheek for chow, cheek by joirl. 

Cheep, chirp. 

Cheerfu'. cheerful. 

Chiels. young fellows. 

Chimla. chimney. 

Chimlie. chimney. 

Chittering. trembling with cold. 

Chows, chews. 

Chuckie. dim. of chuck. 

Christen die. Christendom. 

Chuffie. fat-faced. 

Clachan. a hamlet. 

Claise, clothes. 

Clailh. cloth. 

Claithd. clothed. 

Claithing. clothing. 

Clamb, clomb. 

Claukie. a sharp stroke. 

Clap, a clapper. 

Clark, clerkly, pertaining to erudition. 

Clarkit, wrote. 

Olartv. dirty. 

Clash, idle talk ; to talk. 

Clatter, to talk idly Kintra clatter, ths 
talk of the country. 

Claught. caught. 

Claughtin. catching at anything greedily. 

Claut, to snatch at. to lay hold of a quan- 
tity scraped togetltcr by niggardliness. 

Clautet. scraped. 

Claver, clover. 

Clavers, idle stories. 

Claw, scratch. 

Clean, handsome. 

Cleckin. a brood. 

Cleed, to clothe. 

Cleeding, clothing. 

Cleek. to seize. 

Cleekit. linked themseloes. 

Clegs, gad-flies. 

Clink, to rhyme : money. 

Clinkin, sitting down suddenly. 

ClinkumbeH, the church ttell-ringer. 

Clips, sfiears. 

Clishmaclaver. idle conversation. 

Clockin-time, hatching-time. 

Clo<jt, the hoof. 

Clootie, Satan. 

Clours, bumps or swellings after a blotc. 

Clouts, clothes. 

Clout, to patch ; a patch. 

Clud. a cloud. 

Cluds, multitudes. 

Clue, a portion of cloth or yam. 

Clunk, the sound emitted by liquor when 
shaken in a ca^k or bottle^ ichen the caA 
or bottle is half empty. 

C-oatie, dim. of coat. 

Coaxin, coaxing. 

Coble, a flsfiing-boat. 

C<>ck, to erect. 

Cocks, good fellows. 

Cockie. dim. of cock, a good fellow. 

Cod, a pillow. 

Co"er. to cover, 

Coft, bought. 

Cog. a wooden diA. 

Coggie. dim. of cog. 

CoUa. from Kyle, a district of Ayrshire, 



360 



GLOSSARY. 



so called, saith tradition, from Coil, or 

Coila, a Pictish monarch. 
Collie, a country dog. 
Collieshangie, an uproar, a quarrel. 
Commans, commandments. 
Comin', coming. 
Compleenin, complaining. 
Converse, conversation. 
Good, the cud. 
Coof s, fools, ninnies. 
Cookit, that appeared and disappeared 

by fits. 
Coost, did cast. 
Cootie, a wooden kitchen dish. Fowls 

whose legs are clad with feathers are 

also said to be cootie. 
Corbies, croivs. 
Corn't, fed with oats. 
Corss, the market-place. 
Couldna, could not. 
Counted, considered. 
Countra, country. 
Couthie, kindly, loving. 
Co we, to terrify ; to lop ; a fright. Cowe 

the cadie, terrify the fellow. 
Cowp the cran, to tumble over. 
Cowpit, tumbled. 
Cowpet, tumbled. 
Cow'rin, coivering. 
Cowr, to cower. 
Cour, to cower. 
Cowt, a colt. 
Cowte, a colt. 
Cozie, cozy. 
Crabbit, crabbed. 
Craclc, a story or harangue ; talk. 
Crackin, conversing, gossiping. 
Craft, a croft. 
Craft rig, a croft ridge. 
Craig, the throat. 
Craigie, dim, of craig, the throat. 
Craigs, crags. 
Craigy, craggy. 
Craiks, landrails. 
Crambo-clink, rhymes. 
Crambo-jingle, rhymes. 
Crankous, irritated. 
Cranreuch, hoarfrost. 
Crap, to crop. 
Craps, crops. 
Craw, to crow. 
Crawlin, cravMng. 
Creel, my senses wad be in a creel, to be 

crazed, to be fascinated. 
Creepie-chair, the chair or stool of re- 
pentance. 
Creeshie, greasy. 
Crocks, old sheep. 
Croods, coos, 
Crooded, cooed. 
Cronie, a comrade. 

Croon, a hollow and continued moan. 
Crouchie, crook-backed. 
Crouse, gleefully, luith spirit. 
Crowdie, porridge. 
Crowdie-time, breakfast-time. 
Crummock, a staff with a crooked head. 
Crump, crisp. 

Crunt, a blow on the head with a cudgel. 
Cuddle, to fondle. 
Cuifs, blockheads, ninnies. 



Cummock, a short staff with a crooked 

head. 
Cunnin, cunning. 
Curch, a female head-dress. 
Curchie, a curtsey. 
Curmurring, a rumbling noise. 
Curpin, the crupper. 
Curple, the crupper. 
Cushats, tvood-pigeons. 
Custock, the center of a stem of cabbage. 
Cutty, short, bob-tailed. 
Cut, fashion, shape. 

DADDIE, father. 

Daez't, stupefied. 

Daffin, merriment. 

Daft, foolish. 

Dails, deals oftvoodfor sitting on. 

Daimen-icker, ari ear of corn now and 

then. 
Daisie, the daisy. 
Damies, dim. of dames. 
Dam, tvater. 
Danton, to siibdue. 
Dang, knocked, pushed. 
DappFt, dappled. 
Darin, daring. 
Darklings, darkling. 
Daud, to pelt. 
Daudin', p)€lting. 
Dauntingly, dauntlessly. 
Daur, to dare. 
Daur't, dared. 
Daur na, dare not. 
Daut, to fondle, to make much of. 
Dawte, to fondle. 
Dawtit, fondled, caressed. 
Daurk, a day''s labor. 
Daviely, spiritless. 
Davie's, Ki7ig David's. 
Daw, daivn. 
Da win, the dawning. 
Dawds, lumps, large pieces. 
Dead-sweer, but little inclined. 
Deave, to deafen 
Deils, devils. 

Deil ma care, devil may care. 
Deil haet, devil a thing. 
Deleerit, delirious. 
Delvin, delving. 
Descrive, to describe. 
Deservin, deserving. 
Deservin't, deserving of it. 
Deuk, a duck. 
Devel, a stunning blow. 
Dictionar, a dictionary. 
Diddle, to strike or jog. 
Differ, difference. 

Dight, cleaned from chaff ; to wipe away. 
Din, dim in color. 
Dine, dinner-time. 

Ding, to surpass ; be pushed or upset. 
Dings, knocks. 
Dink, neat, trim. 
Dinna, do not. 
Dinner'd, dined. 

Dirl, a vibrating blow ; to vibrate. 
DirPd, executed with spirit. 
Disagreet, disagreed. 
Dizzen, a dozen. 
Dizzie, dizzy. 



GLOSSARY. 



361 



Dochter, daughter. 

Doin', doing. 

Doited, stupefied. 

Donsie, unlucky. 

Dooked, ducked. 

Dools, sorrows. 

Doolfu', sorrowful. 

Doos, pigeons. 

Dorty, supercilious, huffy. 

Douce, grave, sober. 

Doucely, soberly. 

Doudled, dandled. 

Dought, could, might, 

Dought na, did not, or did not choose to. 

Doup, the backside. 

Doup-skelper, one that strikes the tail. 

Dour, stubborn. 

Doure, stubborn. 

Douser, more decorous. 

Dow, do, can, 

Do we, do, can. 

Dowff, pithless, silly. 

Dowie, low-spirited. 

Downa bide, cannot stand. 

Downa do, a phrase signifying impotence. 

Doylt, stupid. 

Doytin, icalking stupidly. 

Dozen'd, impotent, torpid. 

Dozin, stupefied, impotent. 

Draiglet, draggled. 

Drants, sour humors. 

Drap, drop, a small quantity. 

Drappie, dim. of drap. 

Drapping, dropping. 

Draunting, drawling, of a slow enuncia- 
tion. 

Draw't, draw it. 

Dree, to endure. 

Dreeping, dripping. 

Dreigh, tedious. 

Dribble, drizzle. 

Driddle, to play ; to move slowly. 

Drift, a drove. Fell aff the drift, wan- 
dered from his companions. 

Droddum, the breech. 

Drone, the bagpipe. 

Droop rumpPt, that droops at the crupper. 

Drouk, to moisten. 

Droukit, wet, drenched. 

Drouth, thirst. 

Drouthy, thirsty. 

Druken, drunken. 

Drumly, muddy. 

Drummock, meal and water mixed raw. 

Drunt, pet, sour humor. 

Dry, thirsty. 

Dubs, small ponds. 

Duds, garments. 

Duddie. ragged. 

Duddies, garments. 

Dung, knocked. 

Dunted, beat, thumped. 

Dunts, blotcs, knocks. 

Durk, a dirk. 

Dustit, pushed by a ram or ox. 

Dwalling, dioelling. 

Dwalt, dwelt. 

Dyvors, bankrupts, disreputable fellows. 

EARNS, eagles. 
Eastin, eastern. 



Ee, eye ; to ivatch. 

Een, eyes. 

E'e brie, the eyebrow. 

E'en, evening. 

E'enins, evenings. 

Eerie, scared, dreading spirits. 

Eild, age. 

Eke, also. 

Elbucks, elbows, 

Eldritch, frightful. 

Eleckit, elected. 

Eller, an elder. 

En', end. 

Enbrugh, Edinburgh. 

Em'brugh, Edinburgh. 

Enow, enough. 

Ensuin, ensuing. 

Erse, Gaelic. 

Especial, esjjecially. 

Ether-stane, adder-stone. 

Ettle, design. 

Expeckit, expected. 

Expec', expect. 

Eydent, duigent. 

FA', lot. 

Fa, fall. 

Face't, faced. 

Faddom't, fathomed. 

Fae, foe. 

Faem, foam. 

Faikit, bated. 

Failins, failings. 

Fair-fa', a benediction. 

Fairin, a present, a reward. 

Fairly, entirely, completely. 

Fallow, a fellow. 

Fa'n, have fallen. 

Fan', found. 

Fand, found. 

Farls, cakes of oat-bread. 

Fash, trouble myself. 

Fash your thumb, trouble yourself in the 

least. 
Fash't, troubled. 
Fashous, troublesome. 
Fasten-een, Fasten'' s-even. 
Fatt'rels, ribbon-ends. 
Faught, a fight. 
Fauld, a fold. 
Faulding, folding. 
Faulding slap, the gate of the fold. 
Faun, fallen. 
Fause, false. 
Faut, fault. 
Faute, faxdt. 
Fautor, a transgressor. 
Fausont, seemly. 
Fearf u', fearful. 
Feat, spruce. 
Fecht, to fight. 
Fechtin, fighting. 
Feck, the greater portion. 
Feckly, mostly. 

Fecket, an under waistcoat with sleeves. 
Feckless, poiverless, without pith. 
Feg, a fig. 
Feide, feud. 
Feirie, clever. 
Fell, the flesh immediately under theshinj 

keen, biting ; nippy, tasty. 



;62 



GLOSSARY. 



Fen, a successful struggle^ a shift. 

Fend, to keep off ; to live comfortably. 

Ferlie, to wonder ; a term of contempt. 

Fetch' t, pulled intermittently. 

Fey, predestined. 

Fidge, to fidget. 

Fidgin-fain, fidgeting with eagerness. 

Fiel, soft, smooth. 

Fient, a petty oath. The fient a, the devil 
a bit of. 

Fier, healthy, sound ; brother, friend. 

Fiere, friend, comrade, 

FiUie, a filly. 

Fin\ find. 

Fissle, to fidget. 

Fit, foot. 

Fittie-lan, the near horse of the hindmost 
pair in the plough. 

Fizz, to make a hissing noise like fer- 
mentation. 

Flaffan, flapping, fluttering. 

Flae, a flea. 

Flang, did fling or caper. 

Flannen, flannel. 

Flarin, flaring. 

Flatt'rin, flattering. 

Fleech'd, sujpplicated. 

Fleechin, supplicating. 

Fleesh, a fleece. 

Fleg, a kick, a random stroke ; a sudden 
motion. 

Fleth'rin, flattering. 

Flewit, a sharp blow. 

Fley'd, scared. 

Flichterin', fluttering. 

Flie, a fly. 

Flinders, shreds. 

Flinging, capering. 

Flingin-tree, a flail. 

Fliskit, fretted. 

Flit, remove. 

Flittering, fluttering. 

Flyte, to scold. 

Fodgel, squat or plump. 

Foor, to fare. 

Foord, a ford. 

Foorsday, late in the afternoon. 

Forbears, forefathers. 

Forbye, besides. 

Forfairn, worri-out, jaded. 

Forfoughten, fatigued. 

Forgather, to make acquaintance with. 

Forgather'd, met. 

Forgie, forgive. 

Forjesket, jaded with fatigue. 

Forrit, forward. 

For't, for it. 

Fother, fodder. 

Fou, full ; tipsy ; a bushel. 

Foughten, troubled. 

Fouth, an abundance. 

Frae, from. 

Frammit, estranged. 

Freath, to froth. 

Fremlt, strange, foreign. 

Frien', friend. 

Fright, a person or thing of an extraor- 
dinary aspect. 

Fu', full. 

Fud, the scut of the hare. 

Fuff't, did blow. 



Fumblln', awkward. 

Furder, furtherance. 

Furms, wooden forms or seats. 

Furnicator, fornicator. 

Furr-ahin, the hindmost horse on the 

right hand of the plough. 
Furrs, furrows. 
Fushionless, pithless. 
Fy, an exclamation of haste. 
Fyke, to be in a fuss about trifles. 
Fyle, to soil or dirty. 
Fyl'd, dirtied. 

GAB, to speak fluently ; the mouth. 

Gabs, tongues. 

Gae, go ; gave. 

Gaed, walked ; went. 

Gaen, gone. 

Gaets, manners. 

Gairs, triangular pieces of cloth inserted 
at the bottom of a shift or robe. 

Gane, gone. 

Gang, to go. 

Gangrel, vagrant. 

Gapin, gaping. 

Gar, to make. 

Gar't, made. 

Garten, garter. 

Gash, sagacious. 

Gashin, conversing. 

Gat, got. 

Gate, manner ; way or road. 

Gatty, gouty. 

Gaucie, comfortable looking. 

Gaud, the plough shaft. 

Gaudsman, a ploughboy, the boy who 
drives the horses in the plough. 

Gaun, going. 

Gaunted, yawned. 

Gawcie, jolly, large. 

Gawkies, foolish persons. 

Gaylies, pretty well. 

Gear, wealth, goods. Weel-hain'd gear, 
well saved ; drink. 

Geek, to toss the head in wantonness or 
scorn. 

Geds, pike. 

Gentles, great folks. 

Genty, slender. 

Geordie, George. The yellow lettered 
Geordie, a guinea. 

Get, offspring. 

Ghaists, ghosts. 

Gie, give. 

Gled, gave. 

Glen, given. 

Gi'en, given. 

Gies, give us. 

Gif ', if. 

Gif tie, dim. of gift. 

Giglets, playful children. 

Gillie, dim. of gill. 

Gilpey, a young girl. 

Gimmer, a ewe from one to two years old. 

Gin, if. 

Gipsie, gipsy. 

Girdle, a circular plate of iron for toast- 
ing cakes on the fire. 

Girn, to grin. 

Girrs, hoops. 

Glzz, a wig. 



GLOSSARY. 



363 



Glaikit, thoughtless. 

Glaizie, glittering. 

Glamor, glamour. 

Glaum'd, grasped. 

Gled, a kite. 

Gleed, a live coal. 

Gleg, sharp ; cleverly, swiftly. 

Gleib, a glebe. 

Glib-gabbet, that speaks smoothly and 
readily. 

Glinted, glanced. 

Glintin, glancing. 

Gloamin, twilight. 

Gloamin-shot, a twilight interview. 

Glowran, staring. 

Glovvr'd, looked earnestly, stared. 

Glunch, afroivn. 

Goavan, looking round with a strange, 
inquiring gaze, staring stupidly. 

Gotten, got. 

Gowan, the daisy. 

Govvany, daisied. 

Gowd, gold. 

Gowden, golden. 

Gowff'd, knocked hither and thither. 

Gowk, a foolish lierson. 

Gowling, howling. 

Graff, a grave. 

Grained, grinned. 

Graip, a pronged instrument for clean- 
ing stables. 

Graith, harness, field implements ; ac- 
coutrements. 

Granes, groans. 

Grape, to grope. 

Graped, groped. 

Grapit, groped, 

Grat, wejjt. 

Gratefu', grateful. 

Graunie, grandmother. 

Gree, a prize ; to agree, 

Gree't, agreed. 

Greet, to iveep. 

Greetin, loeeping. 

Griens, covets, longs for. 

Grievin, grieving. 

Grippet, gripped, caught hold of. 

Grissle, gristle. 

Grit, great. 

Grozet, a gooseberry. 

Grumphie, the sow. 

Grun', the ground. 

Grunstane, a grindstone. 

Gruntle, the countenance ; a grunting 
noise. 

Grunzie, the mouth. 

Grushie, thick, of thriving growth. 

Grusome, ill favored. 

Grutten, ivejJt. 

Gude, the Supreme Being ; good. 

Gudeen, good even. 

Gudeman, goodman. 

Gudes, goods, merchandise. 

Guid, good. 

Guid-e'en, good even. 

Guid-mornin, good moruing. 

Guidfather, father-in-laio. 

Guid wife, the mistress of the house; the 
landlady. 

Gully, a large knife. 

Gulravage, riot. 



Gumlie, muddy, discolored. 
Gumption, understanding. 
Gusty, tasteful. 
Gutcher, grandfather. 

HA', hall. 

Ha' Bible, hall-Bible. 

Ha' folk, servants. 

Haddin, holding, inheritance. 

Hae, have ; here (in the sense of take). 

Haet, the least thing. Deil haet, an oath 
of negation. Damn'd haet, nothing. 

Ha'f, the half. 

Haff, the half. 

Haffets, the temples. 

Haffet locks, locks at the temples. 

Hafflins, partly. 

Hafflins-wise, almost half. 

Hag, a scar, or gulf in mosses and moors. 

Haggis, a kind of pxidding boiled in the 
stomach of a cow or 

Hain, to spare, to save. 

Hain'd, spared. 

Hairst, harvest. 

Haith, a petty oath. 

Haivers, idle talk. 

Hal', hall. 

Hald, an abiding-place. 

Hale, whole, entire ; uninjured. Hale 
breeks, breeches without holes. 

Haly, holy. 

Hallan, a particular partition wall in a 
cottage. 

Hallions, clowns, common fellows. 

Hallowmas, the ^\st of October. 

Hame, home. 

Hamely, homely. 

Han', hand. 

Han' afore, the foremost horse on the left 
hand in the plough. 

Han' ahin, the hindmost horse on the left 
hand in the plough. 

Hand-breed, a hand-breadth. 

Hand-waled, carefully chosen by hand. 

Handless, without hands, useless, awk- 
loard. 

Hangit, hanged. 

Hansel, hansel throne, a throne newly in- 
herited ; a gift for a particular season, 
or the firs t money on any particular 
occasion. 

Han't, handed. 

Hap, to wrap. Winter hap, winter cloth- 
ing. 

Hap, hop. 

Ha'ppenee, half -pence. 

Happer, a hopper. 

Happing, hopping. 

Hap-step-an'-loup, hop, step and jump, 
with a light airy step. 

Harkit, hearkened. 

Ham, yarn. 

Har'sts, harvests. 

Hash, a soft, useless fellow. 

Hash'd, did smite, did disfigure. 

Haslock. descriptive of the finest wool, 
being the lock that grows on the hals, or 
throat. 

Has't, has it. 

Hastit, hasted. 

Haud, to hold ; would keep. 



3^4 



GLOSSARY. 



Hauds, holds. 

Hauf, the half. 

Haughs, low-lying lands, meadows. 

HauQS, hands as applied to workmen, 
persons. 

Haurl, to drag. 

Haurls, drags. 

Haurlin, x>eeling, dragging off. 

Hauver, oatmeal. 

Havins, good manners. 

Hav'rel, half-witted. 

Hawkie, a cow, properly one with a white 
face. 

Healsome, wholesome. 

Heapet, heaped. 

Heapit, heaped. 

Hearin', hearing. 

Hearse, hoarse. 

Hear't, hear it. 

Heartie, dim. of heart. 

Hech, an exclamation of wonder. 

Hecht, foretold ; offered. 

Hechtin', making to pant. 

Heckle, a hoard, in which are fixed a 
number of sharp pins, iised in dressing 
hemp, flax, etc. 

Hee balou, a term used by nurses when 
lulling children. 

Heels-o'er-gowdy, head over heels. 

Heeze, to elevate, to hoist. 

Heft, haft. 

Hein shinn'd, in-shinned. 

Hellim, the helm. 

Hen-broo, hen-broth. 

Herriet, harried. 

Herrin, herring. 

Herryment, plundering, devastation. 

Hersel, herself. 

Het, hot. Gie him't het, give him it hot. 

Heugh, o coal pit ; a steep. 

Heuk, a reaping-hook. 

Hich, high. 

Hidin', hiding. 

Hie, high. 

Hilch, to hobble. 

Hilchin, halting. 

Hill-tap, hill-top. 

Hiltie skiltie, helter skelter. 

Himsel, himself. 

Hiney, honey. 

Hing, to hang. 

Hingin', hanging. 

Hinging, hanging. 

Hirples, walks with difficulty. 

Hirplin, limping. 

Hissels, hissel, so many cattle as one per- 
son can attend. 

Histie, dry, barren. 

Hitch, a loop or knot. 

Hizzies, young women. 

Hoast, a cough. 

Hoble, to hobble. 

Hoddin, the motion of a man on horse- 
back. 

Hoggie, a young sheep after it is smeared 
and before it is shorn. 

Hog-score, a kind of distance-line, in 
curling, drawn across the rink. 

Hog-shouther, a kind of horse-play by 
justling with the shoulder. 

Hort, holed, perforated, 



Hoodie-craw, the hooded crow. 

Hoodock, miserly. 

Hool, the outer skin or case. 

Hoolie I stop ! 

Hoord, hoard. 

Hoordet, hoarded. 

Horn, a spoon made of horn ; a comb 

made of horn. 
Hornie, Satan. 
Host, a cough. 
Hostin, coughing. 
Hotch'd, fidgeted. 
Houghmagandie, fornication. 
Houlets, owls. 
Housie, dim. of house. 
Hov'd, swelled. 
Howdie, a midwife. 
Howe, hollowly ; a hollow or dell. 
Howe-backit, sunk in the back. 
Howes, hollows. 
Howkit, digged ; dug up. 
Howlet-f aced, faced like an owl. 
Hoyse, hoist. 
Hoy't, urged. 
Hoyte, to amble crazily. 
Hughoc, Hugh. 
H under, a hundred. 
Hunkers, hams. 
Huntit, hunted. 
Hurcheon, a hedc, 
Hurchin, an urchin. 
Hurdles, hips. 

Hurl, to fall down ruinously ; to ride. 
Hushion, a cushion. 
Hyte, mad. 

ICKER, an ear of corn. 

ler'oe, a great-grandchild. 

Ilk, each. 

Ilka, every. 

Ill-willie, ill-natured. 

Indentin, indenturing. 

Ingine, genius, ingenuity. 

Ingle-cheek, the fireside. 

Ingle-lowe, the household fire. 

In's, in his. 

In't, in it. 

Vse, I shall or will. 

Isna, is not. 

Ither, other. 

Itsel, itself. 

JAD, a jade. 
Jads, jades. 
Janwar, January. 
Jauk, to dally, to trifle. 
Jaukin, trifling, dallying. 
Jauner, foolish talk. 
Jauntie, dim. of jaunt. 
Jaups, splashes. 
Jaw, to pour. 
Jillet, a jilt. 

Jimp, to jump ," slender. 
Jimps, a kind of easy stays. 
Jimpy, neatly. 
Jink, to dodge. 
Jinker, that turns quickly. 
Jinkers, gay, sprightly girls. 
Jinkin, dodging. 

Jirkinet, an outer jacket or jerkin wom 
by women, 



GLOSSARY. 



365 



Jirt, a jerk. 

Jo, sweetheart., a term expressing affec- 
tion and some degree of familiarity. 
Jobbin', jobbing. 
Joctelegs, clasp-knives. 
Joes, lovers. 

Johnny Ged's Hole, the grave-digger. 
Jokin, joking. 
Jorum, the jug. 

Jouk, to duck ; to make obeisance. 
Jow, to sxoing and sound. 
Jumpit, jumped. 
Jundie, tojustle. 

KAES, daws. 

Kail, broth. 

Kail-blade, the leaf of the coleivort. 

Kail-runt, the stein of the colewort. 

Kain, farm produce paid as rent. 

Kebars, rafters. 

Kebbuck, a cheese. 

Kebbuck-heel, the remaining portion of 
a cheese. 

Keckle, to cackle, to laugh. 

Keekin'-glass, a looking-glass, 

Keekit, peeped. 

Keeks, peeps. 

Keepit, kept. 

Kelpies, water-spirits. 

Ken, know. 

Kend, known. 

Kenn'd, known. 

Kennin, a little bit. 

Kent, knew. 

Kep, to catch anything when falling. 

Ket, a fleece. 

Kiaugh, anxiety. 

Kickin', kicking. 

Kilbagie, the name of a certain kind of 
whisky. 

Killie, Kilmarnock. 

Kilt, to tuck up. 

Kimmer, a girl. 

Kin', kind. 

King's-hood, apart of the entrails of an 
ox. 

Kintra, country. 

Kintra cooser, a country stallion. 

Kirn, a churn. 

Kirns, harvest-homes. 

Kirsen, to christen. 

Kissin', kissing. 

Kist, a shop counter. 

Kitchen, anything that eats with bread 
to serve for soup or gravy. 

Kitchens, seasons, makes palatable. 

Kittle, to tickle ; ticklish. 

Kittlin, a kitten. 

Kiutlin, cuddling. 

Knaggie, like knags, or points of rock. 

Knappin -hammers, hammers for break- 
ing stones. 

Knowe, a hillock. 

Knurl, a churl. 

Knurlin, a dwarf. 

Kye, cows. 

Kyle, a district of Ayrshire. 

Kytes, bellies. 

Kythe, discover. 

LAPDIE, a la4. 



Lade, a load. 

Laggen, the angle between the side and 

bottom of a wooden dish. 
Laigh, low. 
Laik, lack. 
Lair, lore. 
Lairing, wading and sinking in snow or 

mud. 
Laith, loth. 
Laitbfu', bashful. 
Lallan, lowland. 
Lambie, dim. of lamb. 
Lampit, limpet. 
Lan', land, estate. 
Lane, alone. 
Lanely, lonely. 
Lang, long. 
Langer, longer. 
Lap, did leap. 
Laughin, laughing. 
Lave, the rest. 
Lav 'rocks, larks. 
Lawin, shot, reckoning, bilL 
Lawlan', lowland. 
Lazie, lazy. 
Lea'e, leave. 
Leal, true. 

Lea-rig, a grassy ridge. 
Lear, lore, learning. 
Lee, the lea. 
Lee-lang, live-long. 
Leesome, pleasant. 

Leeze me, a phrase of congratulatory en- 
dearment, lam happy in thee, or proud 

of thee. 
Leister, a three barbed instrument for 

sticking fish. 
Len'. lend. 
Leugh, laughed. 
Leuk, look, appearance. 
Ley crap, lea crop. 
Libbet, gelded. 
Licket, beating. 
Lickit, licked with desire. 
Licks, a beating. Gat his licks, got a 

beating. 
Liein, telling lies. 
Lien, lain. 

Lift, heaven ; a large quantity. 
Lightly, to undervalue, to slight. 
Liken, to compare. 
Lilt, sing. 

Limbies, dim. of liyyibs. 
Limmer, a kept rnistress ; a strumpet. 
Limpet, limped. 
Lin, a waterfall. 
Linket, tripped deftly. 
Linkin, tripping. 
Linn, a waterfall. 
Lint, flax. Sin lint was i' the bell, since 

flax teas in floiver. 
Linties, linnets. 
Lippened, triisted. 
Lippie, dim. of lip. 
Loiin, milking p)lace ,' lane. 
Lo'ed, loved. 
Lon'on, London. 
Loof, palm of the hand, 
Loosome, Invesome. 
Loot, did let. 
Looves, palms. 



366 



GLOSSARY. 



Losh, a petty oath. 

Lough, a lake. 

Louns, ragamuffins. 

Loup, to leap. 

Lovin', loving. 

Low, flame. 

Lowan, flaming. 

Lowin, blazing. 

Lowpin, leajnng. 

Lowping, leaping. 

Lows'd, loosed. 

Lowse, to loosen. 

Luckie, a designation applied to an el- 
derly ivoman. 

Lug, the ear ; to produce, to bring out. 

Lugget, eared. Lugget caup, eared cup. 

Luggies, small wooden dishes with han- 
dles. 

Luke, look. 

Lum, the chimney. 

Lunardie, a bonnet called after Lunardi 
the aeronaut. 

Lunt, a column of smoke. 

Luntin, sm,oking. 

Luve, love. 

Luvers. lovers. 

Lyart, gray. 

Lynin, lining. 

MAE, more. 

Mair, more. 

Maist, almost ; that nearly. 

Maistly, mostly. 

Mak, make. 

Makin, making. 

Mailie, Molly. 

Mailins, farms. 

Mang, among. 

Manse, a parsonage house. 

Manteels, mantles. 

Mark, marks. 

Mar's year, 1715, the year of Mar^s re- 
bellion. 

Mashlum, mixed corn. 

Maskin-pat, a tea-pot 

Maukin, a hare. 

Maun, must. 

Maunna, must not, 

Maut, malt. 

Mavis, the thrush. 

Mawin, mowing. 

Mawn, a basket ; mown. 

Maybe, perhaps. 

Meere, a mare. 

Meikle, as much. 

Melder, corri or grain of any hind sent to 
the mill to be ground. 

Mell, to meddle. 

Melvie, to soil with mud. 

Men', mend. 

Mense, good manners. 

Mess John, the clergym,an. 

Messin, a dog of mixed breeds. 

Midden, the dunghill. 

Midden-creels, dunghill baskets. 

Midden-hole, the dunghill. 

Midge, a gnat. 

Mim, pirini. 

Mim-mou''d, prim-mouthed. 

Min, remembrance. 

Min', mind. 



Minds me, remembers me. 

Mind't-na, cared not. 

Minnie, mother. 

Mirk, dark. 

Misca'd, abused. 

Misguidin', misguiding. 

Mishanter, misfortune, disaster, calamity. 

Miska't, abused. 

Mislear'd, mischievous. 

Mist, missed. 

Misteuk, mistook. 

Mither, mother. 

Mixtie-maxtie, confusedly mixed. 

MizzPd, having different colors. 

Moistify, to make moist. 

Mony, many. 

Mools, the earth of graves. 

Moop, to nibble ; to keep company with. 

Moorlan' moorland. 

Moss, a morass. 

Mou, mouth. 

Moudieworts, moles. 

Mousie, dim. of mouse. 

Movin', moving. 

Muckle, great, big ; much. 

Musie, dim. of muse. 

Muslin-kail, broth composed simply of 

water, shelled barley, and greens. 
Mutchkin, an English pint. 
Mysel, myself. 

NA', not; no. 

Nae, no. 

Naebody, nobody. 

Naething, nothing. 

Naig, a nag. 

Naigies, dim. of nags. 

Nane, none. 

Nappy, ale. 

Natch, grip, hold. To natch, to lay hold 

of violently. 
Near't, near it. 
Neebors, neighbors. 
Needna, need not. 
Negleckit, neglected. 
Neist, 7iext. 
Neuk, nook, corner. 
New-ca'd, newly driven. 
Nick, to break, to sever suddenly. 
Nickan, cutting. 
Nicket, cut off ; caught, cut off. 
Nick-nackets, curiosities. 
Nicks, knocks, blows. Auld crummie's 

nicks, marks on the horn of a cow. 
Niest, next. 
Nieve-fu', a fist-full. 
Nieves, fists. 
Niffer, exchange. 
Niger, a negro. 
Nits, nuts. 
Nocht, nothing. 
Norland, Northland. 
Notet, noted, 
Nowte, cattle. 

0\ of 

O'erlay, an outside dress, an overall. 

O'erword, any term frequently repeated, 

a refrain. 
Ony, any. 
Orra, supernumerary. 



GLOSSARY. 



367 



O't, of it. 

O'ts, of it is. 

Ought, aught., anything. 

Oughtlins, anything in the least. 

Ourie, shivering. 

Oursel, ourselves. 

Out-cast, a quarrel. 

Outler, un-housed. 

Owre, over ; too. 

Owrehip, a ivay of fetching a blow with 

the hammer over the arm. 
Owsen, oxen. 

PACK, pack an' thick, on friendly or in- 
timate terms. 

Packs, twelve stones. 

Paidle, to paddle. 

Paidles, wanders about without object or 
motive. 

Paidrt, paddled. 

Painch, paunch, stomach. 

Paitricks, partridges. 

Pangs, crams. 

Parishen, the parish. 

Parritch, oatmeal boiled in water., stir- 
about. 

Parritch-pats, porridge-pots. 

Pat, put ; a pot. 

Pattle, a plough-staff. 

Paughty, haughty. 

Paukie, cunning, sly. 

Pay't, paid. 

Pechan, the stomach. 

Pechin, panting. 

Peel, a toiver. 

Peelin, peeling. 

Penny wheep, small beer. 

Petticoatie, dim. ot petticoat. 

Pettle, a plough-staff. 

Phraisin, flattering. 

Pickle, a small quantity. 

Pit, put. 

Pits, puts. 

Placads, public proclamations 

Plack, an old Scotch coin, the third part 
of a Scotch penny, twelve of which 
make ari English penny. 

Pladie, dim. ol plaid. 

Plaided, plaiding. 

Plaister, to plaister. 

Platie, dim. of plate. 

Pleugh, plough. 

Pliskie, a trick. 

Pliver, a plover. 

Plumpit, plumped. 

Pocks, uxtllets. 

Poind, to seize for sequestration. 

Poind't, poinded. 

Poortith, poverty. 

Posie, a bouquet. 

Pou, to pidl. 

Pouchie, dim. ot pouch. 

Pouk, to pluck. 

Poupit, the pulpit. 

Pouse, a push. 

Poussie, a hare. 

Pou't, pulled. 

Pouts, poults, chicks. 

Pouther'd, powdered. 

Pouthery, powdery. 

Pow, the head, the skull. 



Pownie, a pony, a small horse. 
Powther, powder. 

Praise be blest, an expression of thank- 
fulness. 
Pray in, praying. 
Pree, to taste. 
Preen, a pin. 
Prent, print. 
Pridefu', prideful. 
Prie'd, tasted. 
Prief , proof. 
Priestie, dim. ot priest. 
Priggin, haggling. 
Primsie, demure, precise. 
Propone, to propose. 
Proveses, provosts. 
Pu', to pull. 
Pu'd, pidled. 
Puddin\ a pudding. 
Puddock-stools, mushrooms. 
Pund, pounds. 
Pursie, dim. of purse. 
Pyet, the magpie. 
Pyke, to pick. 
Pyles, grains. 

QUAICK, quack. 

Quat, quit ; quitted. 

Quaukin, quaking. 

Quey, a cow from one year to two years 

old. 
Quo', quoth. 

RAD, afraid. 

Rade, rode. 

Ragweed, the plant ragwort. 

Raibles, rattles, nonsense. 

Rair, to roar. Wad rair't, would have 

roared. 
Rairin, roaring. 
Raise, rose. 

Raize, to madden, to inflame. 
Ramblin, rambling. 
Ramfeezl'd, fatigued. 
Ramgunshock, rugged. 
Ram-stam, forward. 
Randie, quarrelsome. 
Randy, a term of approbrium generally 

applied to a. tvoman. 
Ranklin', rankling. 
Ranting, noisy, fxdl of animal spirits. 
Rants, jollifications. 
Rape, a rope. 
Raploch, coarse. 
Rash, a rush. 

Rash-buss, a bush of rushes. 
Rattan, a rat. 
Rattons, rats. 
Raucle, fearless. 
Raught, reached. 
Raw, a row. 
Rax, to stretch. 

Rax'd, stretched out, extended. 
Raxin, stretching. 
Ream, cream. 

Rebute, a rebut, a discomfiture. 
Red, counsel. 
Red-wud, stark mad. 
Reekin, smoking. 
Reekit, smoked ; smoky. 
Reeks, smokes. 



368 



GLOSSARY. 



Reestit, withered, singed ; stood restive. 

Reflec', reflect. 

Reif randies, sturdy beggars. 

Remead, remedy. 

Remuve, remove. 

Respeckit, respected. 

Restricked. restricted. 

Rew, to take pity. 

Rickles, stocks of grain. 

Rig, a ridge. 

Riggin, rafters. 

Rigwooddie, withered, sapless. 

Rin, run. 

Rink, the course of the stones, a term in 

curling. 
Rinnin, running. 

Ripp, a handful of unthrashed corn. 
Ripple, weakness in the back and reins. 
Ripplin-kame, a flax-comb. 
Ripps, handfuls. 
Riskit, made a noise like the tearing of 

roots. 
Rive, to burst. 
Rives, tears to pieces. 
Rives't, tears it. 
Roastin', roasting. 
Rock, a distaff. 
Rockin, a special gathering, the women 

spinning on the rock or distaff. 
Roon, round. 
Roos'd, praised. 
Roose, to praise. 
Roosty, rusty. 
Roun', round. 

Roupet, hoarse as with a cold. 
Routhie, well filled, abundant. 
Rowes, rolls. 
Rowin, rolling. 
Row't, rolled. 
Rowte, to loxv, to bellow. 
Rowth, abundance. 
Rowtin, lowing. 
Rozet, rosin, 
Ruefu', rueful. 
Rung, a cudgel. 
RunklM, tvrinkled. 
Runts, the stems of cabbage. 
Ryke, reach. 

SABS, sobs. 

Sae, so. 

Saf t, soft. 

Sair, sore ; to serve. 

Sairly, sorely. 

Sair't, served. 

Sang, song. 

Sannock, Alexander. 

Sark, a shirt. 

Sarkit, provided in shirts. 

Sauce, scorn, insolence. 

Saugh, the willow. 

Saugh woodies, ropes made of willow 

withes. 
Saul, soul. 
Saunt, saint. 
Saut, salt. 

Saut backets, salt buckets. 
Sautet, salted. 
Saw, to SOU}. 
Sawin, sowing. 
Sawmont, a salmon. 



Sax, six. 

Saxpence, sixpence. 

Say't, say it. 

Scaith, hurt. 

Scour, to scare. 

Scour, frightened. 

Scaud, to scald. 

Scawl, a scold. 

Scho, she. 

Schoolin', schooling, teaching. 

Scones, barley cakes. 

Sconner, to loath ; loathing. 

Scraichin, screaming. 

Scrapin', scraping. 

Screed, a tear, a 7-ent ; to repeat glibly. 

Scriechin, screeching. 

Scrievin, gliding easily. 

Scrimpit, scanty. 

Scrimply, scantly. 

Scroggie, covered with stunted shrubs. 

Sculdudd'ry, a ludicrous term denoting 
fornication. 

See't, see it. 

Seizin, seizing. 

Sel, self, 

Seirt, sold. 

Sen', send. 

Sen't, send it, 

Servan', servant. 

Set, lot. 

Sets, becomes ; sets off, starts. 

Settlin, got a fearfu' settlin, was fright- 
ened into quietness. 

Shachl't, deformed. 

Shaird, a shred. 

Sha'na, shall not. 

Shangan, a cleft stick. 

Shank, the leg and foot. 

Shanks, legs. 

Shanna, shall not. 

Sharin't, sharing it. 

Shaul, shallow. 

Shaver, a wag. 

Shavie, a trick. 

Shaw, show. 

Shaw'd, showed. 

Shaws, tvooded dells. 

Sheep- shank, wha thinks himsel nae 
sheepshank bane, who thinks himself 
no unimportant personage. 

Sheers, shears ; scissors. 

Sherra-moor, Sheriff-muir. 

Sheugh, a trench. 

Sheuk, shook. 

Shiel, a shieling, a hut. 

Shill, shrill. 

Shillin''s, shillings. 

Shog, a shock. 

Shools, shovels. 

Shoon, shoes. 

Shor'd, threatened ; offered. 

Shore, to threaten. 

Shouldna, should not. 

Shouther, shoulder. 

Shure, did shear, did cut grain. 

Sic, such. 

Sicker, secure. 

Siclike, suchlike. 

Sidelins, sidelong. 

Sighin', sighing. 

Siller, money ; of the color of silver. 



I 



GLOSSARY. 



3^9 



Simmer, summer. 
Simmers, summers. 
Sin\ since. 
Sindry, sundry. 
Sinfu', sinful. 
Singet, singed. 
Singin\ singing. 
Sing't, sing it. 
Sinn, the sun. 
Sinny, sunny. 
Sinsyne, since. 
Skaith, injury. 
Skaithing, injuring. 

Skeigh, high-mettled, shy, proud, dis- 
dainful. 
Skellum, a tvorthless fellow. 
Skelp, a slap ; to run. 
Skelpie-limmer, a technical term in fe- 
male scolding. 
Skelpin, walking smartly ; resounding. 
Skelping, slapping. 
Skelpit, hurried. 
Skinklin, glittering. 
Skirl, to shriek. 
Skirl'd, shrieked. 
Skirlin, shrieking. 
Sklent, to deviate from truth. 
Sklented, slanted. 
Sklentin, slanting. 
Skouth, range, scope. 

Skreech, to scream. 

Skrieigh, to scream. 

Skyrin, anything that strongly takes the 
eye, showy, gaudy. 

Skyte, a sharp oblique stroke. 

Slade, slid. 

Slae, the sloe. 

Slaps, flashes ; gates, styles, breaches in 
hedges. 

Slaw, slow. 

Slee, shy. 

Sleeest, slyest. 

Sleekit, sleek. 

Slidd'ry, slippery. 

Sloken, to quench, to allay thirst. 

Slypet, sltpped, fell over. 

Sma', small. 

Smeddum, dust, powder. 

Smeek, smoke. 

Smiddy, a smithy. 
I « Smoor'd, smothered. 
' Smoutie, smutty. 

I Smytrie, a number huddled together. 

Snap, smart. 

Snapper, to stumble. 

Snash, abuse, impertinence. 

Snaw broo, melted snow. 

Snawie, snoioy. 

Snawy, snowy. 

Sned, to lop, to cut. 

Snell, bitter, biting. 

Snellest, sharpest, keenest. 

Sneeshin-mill, a snuff-box. 

Snick, the latchet of a door. 

Snirtle, to laugh slyly. 

Snool, to cringe, to submit tamely; to 
snub. 

SnoovM, sneaked. 

Snoov't, V)ent smoothly. 

Snowkit, snuffed. 

Sodger, a soldier. 



Sodgerin', soldiering. 

Soger, a soldier. 

Sonsie, jolly, comely. 

Soom, to swim. 

Soor, sour. 

Sootie, sooty. 

Sough, a heavy sigh. 

Souk, a suck. 

Soupe, a spoonful, a small quantity of 

anything liquid. 
Souple, supple. 
Souter, a shoemaker. 
Sowps, spoonfuls. 
Sowter, a shoemaker. 
Sowth, to try over a tune with a low 

whistle. 
Sowther, to solder, to make up. 
Spae, to prophesy. 
Spails, chips oftvood. 
Spairges, dashes or scatters about. 
Spairin, sparing. 
Spak, spake. 
Spate, a flood. 
Spavie, a disease. 
Spaviet, having the spavin. 
Spean, to wean. 
Speel, to climb. 
Speel'd, climbed. 
Speer, to inquire. 
Spence, the country parlor. 
Spier, to ask, to inquire. 
Spier'd, inquired. 
Spier't, inquired. 
Spinnin, spinning. 
Spleuchan, a tobacco-pouch, 
Splore, a frolic. 
Sprackled, clambered. 
Sprattle, to struggle. 
Spring, a quick air in music, a Scottish 

reel. 
Spritty, full of spirits. 
Sprush, spruce. 
Spunk, fire ; mettle ; a spark. 
Spunkie, full of spirit ; whisky. 
Spunkies, Wills o' the wisp. 
Spurtle, a stick with which porridge, 

broth, etc., are stirred while boiling. 
Squat tie, to spraivl. 
Squeel, to scream. 

Stacher'd, staggered, walked unsteadily. 
Stacher't, staggered. 
Stack, stuck. 
Staggie, dim. of stag. 
Staig, a horse of one, two, or three years 

old, not yet broken for riding, nor em- 
ployed in work. 
Stan', a stand. Wad stan't, would have 

stood. 
Stanes, stones. 
Stang, to sting. 
Stank, a pool or pond. 
Stap, to stop. 
Stark, strong. 
Starns, stars. 
Starnies, dim. of starns. 
Startin, starting. 
Startles, runs hurriedly. 
Starvin, starving. 
Staukin, stalkiyig. 
Staumrel, half-witted. 
Staw, to steal ; to surfeit. 



370 



GLOSSARY. 



Stechin, cramming, panting with reple- 
tion. 
Steek, to close. 

Steeks, stitches., reticulations. 
Steer, to injure ; to stir up. 
Steer'd, molested. 
Steeve, fipn, compacted. 
Stalls, stills. 
Stan, a leap or bound. Hasty stens, 

hasty stretches or rushes. 
Sten't, reared. 
Stents, assessments, dues. 

Steyest, steepest. 

Stibble, stubble. 

Stibbla-rig, the reaper in harvest who 
takes the lead ; a stubble-ridge. 

Stick-an-stowe, totally, altogether. 

Stilt, halt. 

Stimpart, an eighth part of a Winchester 
bushel. 

Stirk, a cow or bullock a year old. 

Stoekin, stocking. 

Stockins, stockings. 

Stockit, stocked. 

Stocks, plants of cabbage. 

Stoited, walked stupidly. 

Stoitered, staggered. 

Stoor, sounding hollowly or hoarsely. 

Stoppit, stopped. 

Stot, an ox. 

Stoure, dust ; dust blown on the wind ; 
pressure of circumstances. 

Stown, stolen. 

Stownlins, by stealth. 

Stowrie, dusty. 

Stoyte, to stumble. 

Strada, strode. 

Strae, a fair strae death, a natural death. 

Straik, to stroke. 

Straikit, stroked. 

Strak, struck. 

Strang, strong. 

Strappan, strapping. 

Strappin, strapping. 

Straught, straight. 

Streamies, dim. of streams. 

Streekit, stretched, ^treekitovrre, stretch- 
ed across. 

Strewin, strewing. 

Striddle, to straddle. 

Stringin, stringing. 

Stroan't, x>issed. 

Studdie, a stithy. 

Stumpia, dim. of stump, a short quill. 

Strunt, spirituous liquor of any kind ; to 
walk sturdily. 

Stuff, corn. 

Sturt, to molest, to vex. 

Sturtin, frighted. 

Styma, see a styme, see in the least. 

Sucker, sugar. 

Sud, should. 

Sugh, a rushing sound. 

Sumphs, stupid fellows. 

Sune, soon. 

Suppin', supping. 

Suthron, Southern, English. 

Swaird, sward. 

Swall'd, swelled. 

Swank, stately. 

Swankies, strapping young fellows. 



Swap, an exchange. 

Swarf, to swoon. 

Swat, did sweat. 

Swatch, sample ; specimen. 

Swats, ale. 

Swearin', swearing. 

Swaatin, sweating. 

Swinge, to lash. 

Swingein, whipping. 

Swirl, a curve. 

Swith, swift. 

Swither, doubt. 

Swoor, swore. 

Sybow, a leek. 

Syne, since ; then. 

TACK, possession, lease. 

Tackets, a kind of nails for driving into 
the heels of shoes. 

Tae, toe. Threa-tae'd, three-toed. 

Taed, a toad. 

Taen, taken. 

Tairge, to task severely. 

Tak, to take. 

Tald, told. 

Tana, the one. 

Tangs, tongs. 

Tapmost, topmost. 

Tapetless, heedless, foolish. 

Tappit hen, a quart measure. 

Taps, tops. 

Tapsalteeria, topsy-turvy. 

Tarrow, to murmur. 

Tarrow't, murmured. 

Tarry-breeks, a sailor. 

Tassie, a goblet. 

Tauld, told. 

Tawie, that allows itself peaceably to be 
handled. 

Tawpies, foolish, thoughtless young per- 
sons. 

Tawted, matted, uncombed. 

Teats, small quantities. 

Teen, provocation, chagrin. 

Teird, told. 

Tellin', telling. 

Temper-pin, the wooden pin used for 
tempering or regidating the motion of 
a spimiing-wheel. 

Ten hours' bite, a slight feed to the i 
while in yoke in the forenoon. 

Tent, to take heed ; mark. 

Tentie, heedful. 

Ten tier, more careful. 

Teughly, toughly. 

Teuk, took. 

Thack an rape, clothes. 

Thae, these. 

Thairm, fiddlestrings. 

Thankfu', thankful. 

Thankit, thanked. 

Theekit, thatched, covered up, secure. 

Thegither, together. 

Themsels, themselves. 

Thick, pack and thick, friendly. 

Thievaless, cold, dry, spited. 

Thigger, begging. 

Thir, these ; their. 

Thirrd, thrilled. 

Thole, to suffer, to endure. 

Thou's, thou art. 



I 



GLOSSARY. 



371 



Thowes, thaws. 
Thowless, slack, lazy. 
Thrang, busy ; a crowd. 
Thrapple, the throat. 
Thrave, twenty-four sheaves of com, in- 
cluding two shocks. 
Thraw, to sprain or twist; to cross or 
contradict. 

Thrawin, twisting. 

Thravvn, ttvisted. 

Thraws, throes. 

Threap, to maintain by dint of assertion. 

Thresh, to thrash. 

Threshing, thrashing. 

Thretteen, thirteen. 

Thretty, thirty. 

Thrissle, the thistle. 

Throwther, a' throwther, through-other, 
pell viell. 

Thuds, that makes a loud intermittent 
noise ; resounding blows. 

Thummart, the weasel. 

Thumpit, thumped. 

Thyser, thyself. 

Tidins, tidings. 

Till, unto. 

Tiirt, to it. 

Timmer, timber ; the tree boughs. 

Timmer propt, timber propt. 

Tine, to lose ; to go astray. 

Tint, lost. 

Tint as win, lost as won. 

Tinkler, a tinker. 

Tips, rams. 

Tippence, twopence. 

Tirl, to strip. 

Tirl'd, knocked. 

Tirlin, tmroofing. 

Tither, the other. 

Tittlin, whispering. 

Tocher, marriage portion. 

Tocher-band, dowry bond. 

Todlin, tottering. 

Tods, foxes. 

Toom, empty. 

Toop, a ram. 

Toun, a hamlet, a farm-house. 

Tout, the blast of a horn or trumpet. 

Touzie, rough, shaggy. 

Touzle, to rumple. 

To've, to have. 

Tow, a rope. 

Towmond, a twelvemonth. 

Towzling, rumjiling, dishevelling. 

Toy, a very old fashion of female head- 
dress. 

Toyte, to totter. 

Transmugrify'd, metamorphosed. 

Trashtrie, trash. 

Treadin', treading. 

Trews, trousers. 

Trickie, tricksy. 

Trig, spruce, neat. 

Trinkling, trickling. 

Troggin, tvares sold by ivandering mer- 
chants. 

Troke, to exchange, to deal with. 

Trottin, trotting. 

Trouse, trousers. 

Trow't, believed. 

Trowth, a petty oath. 



Try't, have tried. 

Tulzie, a quarrel. 

Tunefu', tuneful. 

Tup, a ram. 

Twa, two. 

Twa fauld, ttvofold, doubled up. 

Twa-three, two or three. 

Twal, twelve o'clock. 

Twalpennie worth, twelvepenny worth. 

Twalt, the twelfth. 

Twang, tivinge. 

Twined, reft. 

Twins, bereaves, takes away from. 

Twistle, a twist. 

Tyke, a vagrant dog. 

Tyne, to lose. 

Tysday 'teen, Tuesday evening. 

UNCHANCY, dangerous. 
Unco, very ; great, extreme ; strange. 
Uncos, strange things, news of the coun- 
try side. 
Unkend, unknoivn. 
Unkenn'd, unknown. 
Unsicker, unsecure. 
Unskaith'd, unhurt. 
Upo', upon. 
Upon't, upon it. 

VAP'RIN, vaporing. 
Vauntie, proud, in high spirits. 
Vera, very. 
Viewin, viewing. 
Virls, rings round a column. 
Vittel, victual, grain. 
Vittle, victucd. 
Vogie, proud, tvell-pleased. 
Vow, an interjection expressive of ad- 
miration or surprise. 

WA', a wall. 

Wa'flower, the wallflower. 

Wab, a tveb. 

Wabster, a weaver. 

Wad, would ; a wager ; to wed. 

Wad a haen, would have had, 

Wadna, ivould not. 

Wadset, a mortgage. 

Wae, sorrowfid. 

Wae days, tvoful days. 

Waefu', woful. 

Waes me, woe's me. 

Waesucks ! alas! 

Wae worth, icoe befall. 

Waft, the cross thread that goes from the 

shuttle through the iceb. 
Waifs, stray sheep. 
Wair't, spend it. 
Ward, chose. 
Wale, choice. Pick and wale, of choicest 

quality. 
Walie, ample, large. 
Wallop in a tow, to hang one''s self. 
Waly, ample. 
Wame, the belly. 
Wamefou, bellyful. 
Wan, d!d irin ; earned. 
Wanehancie, unlucky. 
Wanrestfu', restless. 
War'd, spent, bestowed. 
Ware, to spend ; worn. 



372 



GLOSSARY. 



Wark, work. 

Wark-lume, a tool to work with. 

Warks, works, in the sense of buildings, 

manufactures, etc. 
Warld, world. 
Warlock, a wizard. 
Warly, worldly. 
Warran, warrant. 
Warsle, to wrestle. 
Warst, worst. 
Warstl'd, wrestled. 
Wasna, was not. 
Wast, west. 

Wastrie, prodigality, riot. 
Wat, wet ; wot, know. 
Wat na, tvot not. 
Waterbrose, brose made of meal and 

water simply. 
Wattle, a ivand. 
Wauble, to swing, to reel. 
Waukening, awakening. 
Waukens, wakens. 
Waukit, thickened with toil. 
Waukrife, wakeful. 
Wauks, awakes. 

Waur, to fight, to defeat ; worse. 
Waur't, worsted. 
Weans, children. 
Weanies, dim. of weans. 
Weason, the weasand. 
Wee, little. A wee, a short period of time; 

A. wee a-back, a small space behind. 
Weel, well. 

Weel-gaun, well-going. 
Weel-kent, well-known. 
Weet, wet ; dew ; rain. 
We'se, we shall or will. 
Westlin, western. 
Wha, who. 
Wha e'er, whoever. 
Whaizle, to wheeze. 
Whalpit, whelped. 
Wham, whom. 
Whan, when. 

Whang, a large slice ; strip of leather. 
Whar, where. 
Whare, where. 
Wha's, whose. 
Whase, whose. 

Whatf ore no ? for what reason not ? 
Whatt, did whet or cut. 
Whaup, a curlew. 
Whaur'U, where will. 
Wheep, flying nimbly. 
Whiddin, running as a hare. 
Whigmeleeries, crochets. 
Wbingin, crying, complaining, fretting. 
Whins, furze bushes. 
Whirlyglgums, useless ornaments. 
Whisht, peace. Held my whisht, kept 

silence. 
Whiskit, whisked. 
Whissle, whistle. So gat the whissle o' 

my groat, to play a losing game. 
Whistle, the throat. 
Whitter, a hearty draught of liquor. 
Whun-stane, tohinstone, granite. 
Whup, a whip. 
Whyles, sometimes 
Wi\ with. 
Wick, a term in curling, to strike a stone 

in an oblique direction. 



Widdiefu, ill-tempered. 

Widdle, a struggle or bustle. 

Wiel, a small whirlpool. 

Wifie, dim. of wife. 

Wight, strong, powerful. 

Wir cat, the wild cat. 

Willie- waught, a hearty draught. 

Willow wicker, the smaller species of 

willow. 
Willyart, wild, strange, timid. 
Wimplin, waving, meandering. 
Wimpl't, wimpled. 
Win', wind. 
Winkin, winking. 
Winna, will not. 

Winnock-bunker, a seat in a window. 
Winnocks, windows. 
.Wins, tvinds. 
Win't, did wind. 
Wintle, a staggering motion. 
Wintles, struggles. 
Winze, an oath. 
Wiss, ivish. 
Witha', withal. 
Withoutten, without. 
Wonner, a wonder, a contemptuous ap' 

pellation. 
Wons, dwells. 
Woo', wool. 
Woodie, the gallotvs ; a rope, more prop- 

erly one made of withes or willows. 
Wooer-babs, garters knotted below the 

knee in a couple of loops. 
Wordie, dim. of word. 
Wordy, worthy. 
Worl', world. 
Worset, worsted. 
Wow, an exclamation of pleasure or 

wonder. 
Wrang, wrong ; mistaken. 
Wranged, wronged. 
Wreeths, wreaths. 
Wud, mad. 
Wumble, a ivimble. 
Wyle, to beguile, to decoy. 
Wyliecoat, a flannel vest. 
Wyling, beguiling. 
Wyte, to blame, to reproach. 

YARD, a garden. 

Yaud, a worn-out horse. 

Yell, barren. As yell's the Bill, giving 

no more milk than the bull. 
Yerd, the churchyard. 
Yerket, jerked, lashed. 
Yerl, an earl. 
Ye'se, you shall or will. 
Yestreen, yesternight. 
Yetts, gates. 
Yeukin, itching. 
Yeuks, itches. 
Yill, ale. 

Yill-caup, ale-stoup. 
Yird, earth. 
Yirth, the earth. 
Yokin, yoking, a bout, a set to. 
Yont, beyond. 

Yoursel, yourselves ; yourself. 
Yowes, ewes. 
Yowie, dim. of yowe. 
Yule, Christmas. 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



PAGE 

Accept the gift a friend sincere 184 

Adieu ! a heart-warm, fond adieu I . . 297 
Admiring Nature in her wildest grace. 164 

Adown winding Nith I did wander 287 

Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl. 238 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! 284 

Again rejoicing nature sees 298 

Agaiu the silent wheels of time 128 

A guid New- Year I wish thee, Maggie ! 109 

Ah, Chloris, since it may na be 348 

A head, pure, sinless quite of brain 

and soul 355 

A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping 

wight 201 

All devil as I am, a damned wretch. . 231 

All hail ! inexorable lord ! 128 

Altho' my back be at the wa' 326 

Altho' my bed were in yon muir 314 

Altho' thou maun never be mine 264 

Amang the trees where humming 

bees 313 

Amang the heathy hills and ragged 

woods 166 

Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy 

December 276 

An honest man here lies at rest 187 

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire 300 

An' O 1 my Eppie 350 

A rose-bud by my early walk 268 

As cauld a wind as ever blew 224 

As down the burn they took their 

way 326 

As father Adam first was fool'd 235 

As I came in by our gate end 321 

As I stood by yon roofless tower 279 

As I was wand'ring ae midsummer 

e'enin' 327 

Ask why God made the gem so small. 236 

A slave to love's unbounded sway 321 

As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither. . . 87 
As on the banks o' wandering Nith. . . 214 

As Tam the Chapman on a day 228 

A' the lads o' Thornie-bank 326 

At Brownhill we always get dainty 

good cheer 243 

Auld chuckle Reekie's sair distrest. . . 187 
Auld comrade dear and brither sinner 207 
Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's 

alarms 264 

A' ye wha live by sowps o' drink 130 

Bannocks o' bear meal 327 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay. 160 
Behind yon hills where Lugar flows. . 294 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ! 276 

Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes. . 241 
Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardoness 240 



PAGB 

Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day. . . 244 

Blithe hae I been on yon hill 288 

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing. . 272 

Bright ran thy line, O Galloway 237 

But lately seen in gladsome green 258 

But rarely seen since Nature's birth. 224 
By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove. ... 253 

By Ochtertyre grows the aik 267 

By yon castle wa', at the close of the 
day 309 

Can I cease to care 293 

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to 

west 281 

Cauld is the e'enin' blast 328 

Cease, ye prudes, your envious rail- 
ing 240 

Clarinda, mistress of my soul 301 

Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er 328 
Come, let me take thee to my breast. 288 
Coming through the rye, poor body. . 328 
Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' 

mair 258 

Could aught of song declare my pains 316 
Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch 

in life 235 

Curse on ungrateful man that can 
be pleas'd 203 

Dear Smith, the sleeest, paukie thief. 89 

Dear , I'll give thee some advice 245 

Deluded swain, the pleasure 254 

Dire was the hate at old Harlaw 306 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ?. 304 

Duncan Gray came here to woo 248 

Dweller in yon dungeon dark 143 

Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell. . . 210 

Edinal Scotia's darhng seat ! 134 

Expect na, Sir, in this narration 131 

Fair empress of the Poet's soul 200 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face 130 

Fair maid, you need not take the hint 244 

Fair the face of orient day 204 

False flatterer, Hope, away ! 189 

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame 324 

Farewell, dear Friend 1 may guid 

luck hit yoTi 210 

Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains. 210 
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green 

earth, and ye skies 246 

Farewell, thou stream that winding 

flows 257 

Farewell, ye dungeons dark and 

strong 306 

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped. . 313 

373 



374 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



PAGE 

Fill me with the rosy wine 234 

Fintray, my stay in worldly strife 211 

First when Maggy was my care 305 

Flo'v gently, sweet Afton, among thy 

green braes 277 

For Lords or Kings I dinna mourn. . . 203 
Forlorn, my love, no comfort near. . . 262 

Frae the friends and land I love 351 

Friday first's the day appointed 245 

Friend of the Poet, tried and leal 185 

From thee, Eliza, I must go 294 

From those drear solitudes and 

frowzy cells 208 

Full well thou know'st I love thee 

dear 266 

Fy, let us a' to Kircudbright 244 

Gane is the day, and mirk's the night 271 

Gat ye me, O gat ye me 329 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 282 

Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I 

may live 235 

Gudeen to you, Kimmer 350 

Guid mornin to your Majesty ! 91 

Guid speed an' furder to you, Johny. 191 

Had I a cave on some wild, distant 
shore 283 

Had I the wy te, had I the wy te 329 

Hail, Poesie ! thou Nymph reserv'd ! . 178 
Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie ! 215 

Hark ! the mavis' evening sang 256 

Has aufd Kilmarnock seen the Deil ? 98 
Ha ! whare ve gaun, ye crawlin 

f erlie ! 133 

Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran 

Chief ! 200 

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither 

Scots 158 

He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist. 239 
Hee balou ! my sweet wee Donald.. . 329 
He looked Just as your Sign-post lions 

do 385 

Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad 329 
Her flowing locks, the raven's wing. . 317 
Here awa, there awa, wandering 

Willie 251 

Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct.. 216 

Here comes Burns 243 

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay . . . . 197 
Here is the glen, and here the bower. 255 

Here lie Willie Michie's banes 238 

Here lies a mock Marquis whose titles 

were shamm'd 243 

Here lies a rose, a budding rose 216 

Here lies John Bushby, honest man ! 242 

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon 242 

Here sowter Hood in Death does 

sleep 241 

Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd. . . 216 
Here where the Scottish Muse im- 
mortal lives 178 

Here's a bottle and an honest friend. .307 
Here's a health to them that's awa'. . 320 
Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass. 330 
He who of Rankine sang, lies stiff and 

dead 237 

Hey, the dusty miller 330 

His face with smile eternal drest 355 

Honest Will to heaven is gane 245 



PAGK 

How can my poor heart be glad 255 

How cold is that bosom which folly 

once fired 183 

How cruel are the parents 261 

How daur ye ca' me howlet-faced 244 

How lang and dreary is the night 257 

How pleasant the banks of the clear- 
winding Devon 286 

How shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace 214 
How Wisdom and Folly meet, mix, 

and unite 171 

Husband, husband, cease your strife. 254 

I am a keeper of the law 237 

I am my mammie's ae bairn 320 

" I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd 

corn " 228 

I call no Goddess to inspire my strains 186 

I cof t a stane o' haslock woo' 330 

I do confess thou art sae fair 283 

I dreamed I lay where flowers were 

springing 281 

If thou should ask my love 332 

If ye gae up to yon hill-tap 318 

If you i-attle along like your mis- 
tress's tongue 233 

I gaed a waef u' gate yestreen 270 

I gaed up to Dunse 322 

I gat your letter, winsome Willie 138 

I had sax owson in a pleugh 322 

I hae a wife o' my ain 248 

I hold it. Sir, my bounden duty 198 

I lang hae thought, my youthfu' 

friend 128 

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near 307 

I'll ay ca' in by yon town 307 

I married with a scolding wife 331 

I met a lass, a bonnie lass 238 

I mind it weel, in early date 190 

I murder hate by field or flood 239 

I'm three times doubly o'er your 

debtor 166 

In coming by the brig o' Dye 331 

Inhuman man 1 curse on thy bar- 

b'rous art 159 

In Mauchline there dwells six proper 

young Belles 318 

In politics if thou wouldst mix 238 

In simmer when the hay was mawn . . 274 
Instead of a Song, boys, I'll give you 

a Toast 236 

In this strange land, this uncouth 

clime 218 

In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are 

proper young men 318 

In vain would Prudence, with deco- 
rous sneer 227 

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng 220 

I see a form, I see a face 263 

I sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth 168 

Is there a wliim-inspired fool 241 

Is there, for honest poverty 300 

Is this thy plighted, fond regard 293 

It is na, Jean, thv bonnie face 331 

It was a' for our rightfu' King 331 

It was in sweet Senegal that my foes 

did me enthrall 329 

It was the charming month of May . . 290 
It was upon a Lammas night 294 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



375 



PAGE 

Jenny M'Craw, she has ta'en to the 

heather 233 

Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss 280 

John Anderson my jo, John 270 

Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief 238 

Ken ye aught o' Captain Grose ? 305 

Kilmarnock Wabsters, fidge and claw 83 
Kind Sir, I've read your paper 

through 175 

Know thou, O stranger to the fame.. 241 

Lament him, Mauchline husbands a\ 242 
Lament in rhyme, lament in prose. . . 88 

Landlady, count the lawin 332 

Lass, when your mither is frae hame 233 
Last May a braw wooer cam down the 

lang glen 263 

Latecrippl'd of an arm, and now a leg 148 

Let not woman e'er complain 291 

Let other heroes boast their scars 230 

Let other Poets raise a fracas 60 

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a pi'ize. . 174 
Light lay the earth on Billy's breast. 228 
Like Esop's lion. Burns says, sore I 

feel 217 

Lone on the bleaky hills the straying 

flocks 219 

Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours 217 
Lord, to account who dares thee call. 243 

Lord, we thank an' thee adore 233 

Loud blaw the frost y breezes 265 

Louis, what reck I by thee 278 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion. 261 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave 229 

Musing on the roaring ocean 260 

My blessings on ye, honest wife 244 

My bottle is my holy pool 234 

My Chloris, mark how green the 

groves 289 

My curse upon thy venom'd stang — 164 
My Father was a Farmer upon the 

Carrick border O 311 

My Harry was a gallant gay 325 

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittle. . . 271 

My heart is sair, I dare na tell 278 

My heart is wae, and unco wae 352 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 

is not here 282 

I\Iy heart was once as blithe and free 332 

My honor'd Colonel, deep I feel 186 

My lord a-hunting he is gane 320 

My Lord, I know your noble ear 160 

My lov'd, my honor'd, much re- 
spected friend ! 119 

My love she's but a lassie yet .333 

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form. . . 281 

Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair . . 280 

Nae heathen name shall I prefix 205 

No churchman am I for to rail and to 

write 296 

No more of your guests, be they titled 

or not 184 

No more, ye warblers of the wood — 

no more ! 183 

No sculptur'd marble here, nor pom- 
pous lay 188 



PAGE 

No song nor dance I bring from yon 

great city 173 

No Stewart art thou, Galloway 237 

Now bank an' brae are claith'd in 

green 284 

Now health forsakes that angel face. 229 
Now in her green mantle blithe Na- 
ture arrays 259 

Now Kennedy, if foot or horse 218 

Now nature deeds the flowery lea... . 2.57 
Now Nature hangs her mantle green 146 

Now Robin lies in hisdast lair 190 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers... 301 
Now simmer blinks on flowery braes. 265 
Now spring has clad the groves in 

green 301 

Now wrestlin winds and slaught'ring 
guns 295 

O a' ye pious godly flocks 192 

O bonnie was yon rosy brier 262 

" O came ye here the fight to shun ". 303 

O can ye labor lea, young man 2.32 

O, could I give thee India's wealth. . . 220 
O Death, hadst thou butspar'd his life 235 
O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody! 144 
O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the 

lone mountain straying 203 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 268 

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our 

peace 226 

O gie my love brose, brose 232 

O Goudie ! terror o' the Whigs 207 

O, had the malt thy strength of mind 184 
Oh ! had each Scot of ancient times.. 240 
Oh 1 I am come to the low countrie. . 334 
Oh, open the door, some pity to show 250 

O how can I be blithe and glad 285 

O how shall I, unskilf u', try 333 

O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has 

gotten 250 

O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie ! 333 

O, Lady Mary Ann 334 

O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? 260 

Old Winter with his frosty beard 183 

O leave novels, ye Mauchline belles. . 316 

O leeze me on my spinnin wheel 273 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 251 

O Lord, when hunger pinches sore. . . 243 
O luve will venture in, where it daur 

na weel be seen 275 

O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet 335 

O Mary, at thy window be 310 

O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet 278 
O meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty 271 
O merry hae I been teethin' a heckle 235 
O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour... 249 

O, my luve's like a red, red rose 279 

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day 314 

On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells 307 

Once fondly lov'd, and still remem- 

ber'd dear 206 

One night as I did wander 317 

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories 

tell 235 

On peace and rest my mind was bent 321 

O, once I lov'd a bonnie lass 305 

O Philly, happy be that day 291 

O poortith cauld, and restless love. .. 248 



376 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



PAGE 

Oppressed with grief, oppressed with 

care 117 

O raging fortune's withering blast. .. 314 

O rattlin', roarin' Willie 336 

O rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine 143 

Orthodox, orthodox 221 

Orthodox, orthodox, wha believe in 

John Knox 163 

O sad and heavy should I part 336 

O saw ye bonnie Lesley 313 

O saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 289 

O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 350 
O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay 260 
O steer her up, and baud her gaun. . . 336 

O that I had ne'er been married 351 

O Thou dread Pow'r, who reign'st 

above 125 

O Thou Great Being ! what Thou art 126 
O Thou, in whom we live and move. . 233 
O thou pale Orb, that silent shines. . . 116 
O Thou, the first, the greatest friend 126 
O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause. . . 124 
O Thou, wha in the Heavens dost 

dwell 195 

O thou ! whatever title suit thee 85 

O Thou, who kindly dost provide 188 

O thou whom Poetry abhors 210 

Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair 327 
Out over the Forth I look to the North 285 

O, wat ye wha's in yon town 279 

O wat ye what my minnie did 232 

O, were I on Parnassus' hill ! 269 

O were my love yon lilac fair 288 

O, wert thou in the cauld blast 280 

O wha is she that lo'es me 304 

O wha my babie-clouts will buy ? — 283 
O, where did ye get that hauver meal 

bannock ? 336 

O whare live ye my bonnie lass 348 

O wha will to St. Stephen's house 336 

O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad 253 

O why the deuce should I repine 322 

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut 270 

O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie 

Dunbar? 325 

O ye wha are sae guid yoursel 97 

O ye, whose cheek the tear of pity 

stains 242 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare. 223 
Powers celestial, whose protection. .. 308 

Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy 

name 216 

Raving winds around her blowing 266 

Revered defender of beauteous 

Stuart 180 

Right, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true 85 
Rusticity's ungainly form 243 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page 160 

Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow 328 

Sae flaxen were her ringlets 256 

Say, Sages, what's the charm on earth 224 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled 299 

Searching auld wives' barrels 238 

Sensibility, how charming 313 

She is a winsome wee thing 248 

She's fair and fause that causes my 
sn[^art....f....f ,,.., , ... 275 



PAGE 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot.. 299 
Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan 

came 181 

Sic a reptile was Wat 243 

Simmer's a pleasant time 337 

Sing on, sweet Thrush, upon the leaf- 
less bough 184 

Sir, as your mandate did request 167 

Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card 198 

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest 

creature ? 257 

Slow spreads the gloom my soul de- 
sires 314 

So heavy, passive to the tempests' 

shocks .304 

Some books are lies frae end to end. . 73 

Some hae meat, and canna eat 323 

Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway. . . 237 
Stay, my charmer, can you leave me? 265 
Still anxious to secure your partial 

favor 177 

Strait is the spot and green the sod.. 354 
Streams that glide in orient plains. . . 287 
Sweet closes the evening on Craigie- 

burnwood 326 

Sweetest May, let love inspire thee. . . 317 
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn... 259 
Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love. 165 
Sweet naivet6 of feature 223 

Talk not to me of savages 223 

That there is falsehood in his looks... 238 
The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout 323 

The black-headed eagle 233 

The blude red rose at Yule may blaw 337 

The bonniest lad that e'er I saw 338 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen. 270 

The cats like kitchen 231 

The cooper o' Cuddie cam here awa.. 338 

The day returns, my bosom burns 270 

The D^'il cam fiddling thro' the town 287 
The Devil got notice that Grose was 

a-dying 240 

Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths 

among 189 

The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa's... 322 
The friend whom wild from wisdom's 

way 185 

The gloomy night is gath'ring fast. .. 297 
The graybeard. Old Wisdom, may 

boast of his treasures 239 

The heather was blooming, the mead- 
ows were mawn 349 

Their groves o' sweet myrtles let 

foreign lands reckon 260 

The King's most humble servant I 234 

The laddies by the banks o' Nith 351 

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging 

glare 204 

The last braw bridal that I was at . . . 233 
The lazv mist hangs from the brow of 

the hill 267 

The lovely lass o' Inverness 278 

The man, in life wherever plac'd 126 

The night was still, and o'er the hill.. 220 
The noble Maxwells, and their powers 337 

The ploughman he's a bonnie lad 342 

The poor man weeps— here Gavin 

sleeps 241 

There came a piper out q' Fife- . • r . . » 233 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



377 



PAGE 

There liv'd a lass in yonder dale 348 

There lived carle on Kellyburn braes 340 
There's auld Rob Morris that wons in 

yon glen 247 

There's a youth in this city, it were a 

great pity 283 

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow 

braes 249 

There's death in the cup— sae beware! 224 
There's naethin like the honest 

nappy ! 229 

There's news, lasses, news 351 

There's naught but care on ev'ry han' 294 
There was a bonnie lass, and a bonnie, 

bonnie lass 325 

There was a lad was born in Kyle — 310 
There was a lass, and she was fair — 252 
There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg. . 341 
There was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen 351 
There was once a day, but old Time 

then was young 302 

There were five Carlins in the south . . 322 
There were three Kings into the east 291 
The simple Bard, rough at the rustic 

plough 78 

The small birds rejoice in the green 

leaves returning 317 

The smiling spring comes in rejoicing 278 

The solemn League and Covenant 223 

The sun had clos'd the winter day 93 

The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles 

an' a' 339 

The Than\es flows proudly to the sea 272 

The tither morn 339 

The weary pund, the weary pund 268 

The wind blew hollow f rae the hills . . 150 
The winter it is past, and the simmer 

comes at last 317 

The wintry west extends his blast. .. 118 
They snool me sair, and haud me down 272 
Thickest night, o'erhang my dwell- 
ing 266 

Thine am I, my faithful fair 255 

Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair 183 

This Day Time winds th' exhausted 

chain — 181 

This wot ye all whom it concerns 175 

Tho' cruel fate should bid us part 281 

Thou flattering mark of friendship 

kind 224 

Though fickle fortune has deceiv'd 

me 228 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 290 

Thou lingering star, with less'ning 

ray 315 

Thou of an independent mind 182 

Thou's welcome, wean! raishanterfa' 

me 206 

Thou whom chance may hither lead.. 142 
Thou, who thy honor as thy God 

rever'st 1.50 

Tho' women's minds like winter winds 315 
Through and through the inspired 

leaves 225 

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, 

fair friend 179 

To Riddel, much-lamented man 225 

To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome 

plains 255 

To you, Sir, thi^ summon? J've §ent. . 355 



PAGK 

True hearted was he, the sad swain o' 

the Yarrow , 251 

Turn again, thou fair Eliza — 274 

'Twas even— the dewy fields were 

green 246 

'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle 55 
'Twas in the seventeen hundred year 346 
'Twas na her bonnie blue ee was my 

ruin 261 

'Twas where the birch and sounding 

thong are ply'd 200 

Upon a simmer Sunday morn 68 

Upon that night, when Fairies light. . 99 
Up wi' the carles of Dysart 342 

Wae is my heart, and the tear's in 

my ee 349 

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed 

leaf! 226 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray 343 

We came na here to view your warks 236 
Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r.. 127 
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rousbeastie 111 
Wee Willie Gray, and his leather 

wallet 326 

Wha is that at my bower door ? 284 

Whan I sleep I dream 347 

Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? . . . 343 

What ails ye now, ye lousie bitch 233 

What can a young lassie, what shall 

a young lassie — 272 

What dost thou in that mansion fair? 237 
What needs this din about the town 

o' Lon'on 201 

What of earls with whom you have 

supt 227 

What will I do gin my Hoggie die ?. . . 343 

Wha will buy my troggin 345 

When biting Boreas, fell and doure.. Ill 
When by a generous public's kind ac- 
claim 229 

When chapman billies leave the street 152 
When chill November's surly blast. . . 123 
When death's dark stream I ferry o'er 188 
When , deceased, to the devil 

went down 244 

Wlien first I came to Stewart Kyle. . . 313 
When first I saw fair Jeanie's face. . . 352 

When first my brave Johnnie lad 343 

When Guilford good our pilot stood.. 293 

When I think on the happy days 349 

When Januar' wind was blawing 

cauld 824 

When lyart leaves bestrew the yird.. 104 
When Nature her great masterpiece 

design'd 146 

When o'er the hill the eastern star. . . 247 

When the drums do beat 383 

When wild-war's .deadly blast was 

blawn 311 

Where are the joys I have met in the 

morning 289 

Where, braving angry winter's storms 267 

Where Cart rins rowin to the sea 300 

While at the stook the shearers cowr 193 
While briers an woodbines budding 

green 135 

While Europe's eye is fixed on mighty 

things , ,., ,...,... }77 



Z7^ 



INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



PAGE 

While larks with little wing 253 

While new-ca'd kye rowte at the 

stake 136 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood. 159 
While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond 

blaw 114 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here.. .. 236 
Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know. . . 241 
Whom will you send to London town! 343 
Whose is that noble, dauntless brow ? 199 
Why am I loth to leave this earthly 

scene ? 125 

Why, why tell thy lover 302 

Why, ye tenants of the lake 197 

Wi'braw new branks in mickle pride 225 

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed 277 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary — 310 

Wilt thou be my dearie ? 255 

With Pegasus upon a day 226 

Wow, but your letter made me 

vauntie! 172 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams 

around 298 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon. . 276 

Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon 276 

Ye gallants bright, I red you right. . . 281 
Te hae lien a' wrang, lassie 23S 



PAGE 

Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires 63 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, 

give an ear 347 

Ye maggots feast on Nichol's brain.. 233 
Ye men of wit and wealth, why all 

this sneering 239 

Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by 

Willie 847 

Ye sons of sedition, give ear to my 

song 226 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine 286 

Yestreen I met you on the moor 268 

Ye true " Loyal Natives," attend to 

my song 226 

Yon wand'ring rill, that marks the 

hill 320 

Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty 

and wide 284 

Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain. . . 349 
Young Jockey was the blithest lad . . . 306 
Young Peggy blooms our bonniest 

lass 309 

Your billet, sir, I grant receipt 242 

Your News and Review, Sir, I've read 

through and through. Sir 199 

Your welcome to Despots, Dumourier 316 

You're welcome, Willie Stewart 245 

Yours this moment I unseal 227 



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